What You Fight Against: The Second X-Games
by Elim9
Summary: "Take care not to become what you fight against. Vengeance begets only a further cycle of more vengeance."
1. Cycle

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Welcome back, all! It's my pleasure to announce that submissions are open for the Second X-Games. Additional information, as well as the submission form, can be found on my profile.

Yes, this is technically a crossover, but I'm operating under the assumption that people don't regularly check the X-Men/Hunger Games crossover page for stories to submit to. (Considering that particular page has a grand total of four stories - one of them my first in this series - I think that's a fair assumption.) Once submissions are closed, I'll scoot this on over to the crossover section where it belongs.

* * *

 **What You Fight Against  
** **The Second X-Games**

* * *

 **Prologue  
** **Cycle**

* * *

 **Iris Calvin, 18  
** **Santa Rosa, CA**

 **February 25th, 09:16 PST**

She was sure that at least a few of them suspected.

Iris smiled as she quickly scurried about the tent, rearranging this and that, making sure that everything was just so. A calendar here, a few flowers there, a few candles to set the mood. The mood was everything. Her customers came expecting messages from their lost loved ones, and that was what she delivered. Just not in the way most of them thought.

Maybe there _were_ mutants who could contact the dead. She'd never really given the matter much thought, and she certainly wasn't going to go around asking people. That was a good way to attract the attention of the government. Since the election, there had been a crackdown on unauthorized mutant activity, and a wrong question here or a suspicious internet search there could draw their attention.

But a medium? Normal people claimed to be able to contact the dead all the time. Most of them couldn't, of course, and neither could she. But she could do the next best thing. One touch from any object allowed her to read its entire history, which was why she required that her customers bring along a personal possession of the deceased. That gave her enough information to form a convincing message.

Up until recently, that had always been enough. Enough to keep food on the table, at least. Maybe it wasn't the most profitable business, but ever since her father had kicked her to the curb for accidentally revealing his affair to his latest girlfriend, she'd had to make do with what work she could get.

Iris shook her head as she lit another candle. The irony of the situation didn't escape her. She was in this position because she'd revealed her father's lie, and now she made her living lying to grieving families. Parents. Siblings. Children. Family members and friends who were desperate for a last word of kindness from those they'd lost.

And that was how she slept at night: by telling herself that it was kind. Unlike her father, her lies weren't harming anyone. She gave people comfort. Occasionally, it was false comfort, but who would know the difference? It wasn't as if the dead were going to jump in and correct her.

Lately, though, business had been a bit slower than usual. People were more cautious about anything purporting to be supernatural. Anything that didn't quite seem human. And what she was doing certainly qualified. It wasn't enough to drive away customers entirely; there would always be someone who was desperate enough to try anything, to trust anyone. But it did mean that business was slower than usual.

Iris was just about to sit down when the tent flap opened, revealing a girl about her age. She was pale, with wispy blonde hair that hung to her shoulders. She looked vaguely familiar from somewhere, but Iris couldn't quite place it. The sunglasses, however, definitely caught her eye. It was dim in the tent, and not particularly bright outside, either.

Still, in her line of business, she was quite accustomed to people's eccentricities. "Welcome," she beamed, pulling up a chair. "Please, have a seat."

"We don't have time, Iris." The girl's voice was low. "You have to come with me."

"What?"

"They're watching you. They know who you are, what you can do. And you're exactly the sort of person who would be perfect for their plan."

"Who?"

Instead of answering, the girl removed her glasses. Iris barely held back a gasp. The girl's eyes were completely black. Iris took a step back as she realized where she'd seen the girl before. "You're…"

"Piper."

"You're dead."

The girl couldn't hide a smile. "Thought you were a medium. You should be used to that."

Iris shook her head. "I think we both know better than that."

"You're right. I'm only _officially_ dead. And I'd love to sit here and chat and tell you everything, but we _really_ don't have time. They'll be here in— Kurt! We have to move!"

Immediately, another figure rushed into the tent. "Look," Piper insisted, turning back to Iris. "You're on their list. I don't have time to explain what that means, but if you don't want to end up like me – or _worse_ – then you have to come with us. _Now_." The stranger held out his hands, and Piper took one. "Hurry."

Iris took Piper's hand, her fingers brushing up against the glasses as she did. Iris gasped and almost took a step back, but Piper's hand clenched tightly around hers. "I know," she whispered. "Believe me, I know you're scared. And I can't promise that you'll be safe with us. But I _can_ promise that we're your best chance. Now take Kurt's hand."

Iris quickly did as she was told, and almost immediately, they disappeared in a flash of blue smoke. As they disappeared, Piper let the glasses fall to the floor of the tent, a silent message for their pursuers. Iris was beyond their reach – for the moment, at least.

One more mutant they wouldn't get their hands on.

* * *

" _Take care not to become what you fight against. Vengeance begets only a further cycle of more vengeance."_


	2. Creating

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Here's prologue number two, and a little bit more background on what's been happening in the government since the last Games. The third and final prologue will be up along with the tribute list sometime after submissions close, and will focus on our four coaches. (I promise I haven't forgotten about them; I just want a fuller roster so I can include some of that in their chapter.

Keep those submissions coming!

* * *

 **Prologue  
** **Creating**

* * *

 **Senator Carlos Kinsinger  
** **Garrison, ND**

 **March 2nd, 13:32 EST  
** **Washington, D.C.**

President Burke certainly wasn't wasting any time.

Carlos shook his head as the MAAB continued their presentation. It had been less than two months since the inauguration, less than two months since the newly elected senators and representatives had taken office. The election had brought a wave of emboldened anti-mutant activists, including their new president, who had been quick to push for Congress to consider any and all legislation regarding mutants their number one priority. And Congress was now almost completely on board with the new anti-mutant wave.

They never _called_ themselves anti-mutant, of course – not in public, at least. They were pro-safety. Pro-regulation. Pro- _human_. People were scared, especially since the "incident" the year before. That was how they referred to it in public. An unfortunate incident. An accident. How many people really knew, he wondered, that President McKenna had signed off on it?

There were rumors, of course. Fringe conspiracy theorists. But they were dismissed as mutant sympathizers. Carlos shook his head. He _could_ go public with what he knew, but they would dismiss him just as easily. There were already rumors going around that he was a mutant himself, or that someone in his family _must_ be, because he had been one of a few to vote against several "precautionary" measures that had already come before the Senate.

Those votes would cost him his seat in two years; he'd already accepted that. Until then, he wanted to make sure that at least _someone_ objected. That someone stood up and said no – at least for a little while.

It was all he could do, really. He was one of only a few in Congress who still opposed what seemed to him like a dangerous step in the wrong direction. There had been a few more before the election, but they had been voted out in favor of people who would "get something done." People were scared. And the more afraid people were, the more they would tolerate in the name of security.

"As all of you know, the Mutant Registration Act was instituted almost two years ago," continued Mack Urban, one of the younger representatives from Texas and a member of the MAAB. "Since then, thousands of mutants have been entered into our database. What we're proposing is that we use this information to begin to consolidate the mutant population in designated areas."

"You want to relocate them?" one of the younger senators asked.

Mack nodded. "That's essentially correct, yes. The more isolated they are from the human population, the less of a danger they'll be. These areas on the map represent the proposed locations of these mutant colonies."

A map appeared on the screen, and Carlos barely held back a snort. The proposed locations seemed to be clustered around the more sparsely populated states. There were a few in Alaska, as well as Wyoming, Montana, Kansas, Nebraska, South Dakota, and his own home state of North Dakota. There was one in Oklahoma, as well as a few in Texas.

"You may be wondering why these particular sites were chosen," Mack cut in before anyone could ask the obvious question. "Simply put, we wanted to select areas with a generous amount of open land that is currently uninhabited. We don't want to displace the general human population unless absolutely necessary. In addition, the low population density in these areas mean that if something unfortunate _does_ happen, human casualties will be minimal."

There were a few vocal objections, largely from Carlos' fellow senators from more rural states. Carlos shook his head. It had been a smart move on Mack's part. Instead of focusing on whether or not these colonies should be built at all, the senators would spend hours squabbling about _where_ they should be built. It was already a given that they would be built _somewhere_. The only question was where, and when.

And that was clearly negotiable. Mack had already eased a few ruffled feathers by pointing out that three of the proposed colonies were in his own home state of Texas. Every possible precaution would be taken to ensure that there _were_ no incidents that would affect the nearby human population. And compensation would be offered to any humans who _did_ have to vacate their homes in order to build the colonies.

Finally, once the commotion had died down, Carlos spoke up. "And then what?"

Mack turned to him, forcing a smile. "Pardon?"

"Once the mutants have been sent to these camps—"

Mack cut him off. "Colonies. Settlements. Districts, perhaps. 'Camps' makes them sound so primitive. They'll have all the necessities. We'll set up housing, schools, hospitals, and so on. They won't be out there in the wilderness, Carlos."

Carlos winced at the familiarity. "I understand that, _Mack_. But once they've been relocated to these _camps_ , then what? What do you plan to do with them once they're there?"

"Contain them – for their own good, as well as for ours. The more dangerous ones will be provided with inhibitor collars to keep their abilities in check. And a more organized setting will allow for more research to be done, which I think we can all agree is badly needed."

He was right about that, at least. Research into mutations was something that was rare, because test subjects were hard to come by. Despite the Mutant Registration Act, many mutants were reluctant to reveal themselves, and he couldn't particularly blame them for that. But there were rumors that Mack had another proposal in the works – one that would require hospitals to test for the mutant gene at birth and report mutant births to the government. If that happened…

If that happened, there would be no more hiding. Within a generation, every mutant would be registered at birth. For their own good, the government would say. After all, knowing about a mutant's powers earlier could help the parents prepare to raise them, help the schools learn to cope with them. It _sounded_ like a good idea. Maybe parts of it even _were_ a good idea.

That was what made it so dangerous. That was how they would sell it to the general public. Desperate for any reassurance that the mutant 'problem' could be solved, people would embrace the idea. Who _wouldn't_ want to know if their child was a mutant? And registering mutants at birth would allow them to be placed in these proposed colonies even sooner, avoiding the drama of pulling them away from their 'normal' lives. There would _be_ no normal lives – not for mutants, at least.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that it wouldn't stop there.

* * *

" _After this long a lifetime, I have no fear of [death], and no desire to live in the kind of world you're creating."_


	3. Limits

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** And here we go! *scoots story on over to crossovers* Yay! The X-Men/Hunger Games crossover page has _five_ stories now! Represent!

The tribute list is at the end of the chapter, and the page is up on the website. Thank you so much to everyone who submitted; I know it's been a busy end of the semester for a lot of folks, and I'm delighted I got as many submissions as I did. Everybody got at least one tribute in, and I am _definitely_ looking forward to writing this bunch. So without further ado, here's a word from our coaches.

* * *

 **Prologue  
** **Limits**

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 13**

 **March 13th, 10:42 MST  
** **MAAB Headquarters – Calpet, WY**

"Another list?"

Penelope glanced down at the file Alvin had tossed onto the table, a list on top with the names of contestants. It was the third time this month, and he was clearly as frustrated as the rest of them. "Well, if mutants would stop _disappearing_ , we wouldn't have to sit down and have these lovely conversations every week."

Ian shrugged casually. "You could always just make do with the ones that are left."

Alvin sighed. "You'd like that, wouldn't you."

"I've told you before, it's not me. I don't remember the last time I even slept."

"Four months, three days," Alvin admitted. "But that doesn't mean the rest of you—"

"I haven't heard from Diana in months," Maria insisted. "We have no way of knowing how long she can survive in the dreamworld once her body is dead. She may just be … gone."

Penelope flipped through the stack of papers beneath the list Alvin had provided. Diana had been one of the first contestants to die the year before, her parachute shot down before she even landed on the island. Just like Rachel, one of the mutants Penelope had been working with. It hadn't even been a year, but it seemed like such a long time ago.

It seemed like a _lifetime_.

Maybe it _was_ another lifetime. When she'd been collected for the Games, she'd tried to run. She'd been running her whole life, so it had seemed the natural thing to do. But now … now there was no point in running. This was her life now, and it was her responsibility to make the most of it.

It was Maria, of all people, who seemed to have grasped that. Together, the two of them had been working to develop the best possible training regimen for the mutants who had been assigned to them this year. But it was difficult when, as Alvin said, their potential contestants kept disappearing. Not all of them, certainly, but enough that they'd had to shift things around almost constantly. Piper's success was making everything harder for the rest of them.

It was almost certainly Piper; that much, the MAAB had been quite clear about. What had happened to her after the Games, Penelope wasn't entirely sure, but things clearly hadn't gone as the board had expected, and now she was free. If spending the rest of her life trying to stay one step ahead of the MAAB in order to snatch unsuspecting mutants from their grasp counted as 'free.'

Penelope quickly glanced over the list of names. Twenty-eight names in all, which meant seven for each of them. Most of the names were familiar, but a few changes caught her eye. She quickly flipped through the file. "Another chronokinetic? Are you sure two is a good idea?"

"Chro _mo_ kinetic," Alvin corrected. "Color manipulation."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "Why? That's not dangerous."

"Camouflage," Penelope offered. "It'd be useful for trying to stay hidden, I suppose."

"That's not the point," Vincent mumbled.

Penelope glanced up, surprised he'd spoken up at all. "What do you mean?"

"Whether they're dangerous or not isn't the point, is it?" he asked, turning to Alvin. "You just want mutants who will put on a good show. Color manipulation, starlight manipulation, shadow animation. You want powers that will look good on camera."

"Mack suggested—"

Vincent cut him off. "Mack wants ammunition for the bill he's trying to pass. If he can make people afraid of the girl next door who can bring her shadow to life or the boy who leaves them in the dust at a track meet, then he can make them afraid of _anyone_. It's exactly what he needs to cement public opinion on his side and pass that damn law that'll relocate every last one of us." He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. "It makes sense. I don't _like_ it, but at least it makes sense." He shook his head. "But I think you've bitten off a bit more than you can chew this time."

"If you're talking about the weather kids…"

" _Two_ weather manipulators? Who thought that was a good idea?"

"Lillian," Alvin admitted. "Most of the rest went along with it. I advised against it, but I think we know how that goes."

"They assumed you were being paranoid," Maria agreed. "Because if things get out of hand, you can always turn their collars on."

Alvin sighed. "Exactly. But that's not how weather works." He shook his head, turning to Ian. "It's math. It's physics. Objects in motion. Complex interactions within a system with enough variables to make your head spin. We have a hard enough time predicting weather when there _aren't_ mutants involved. Throw two of them into the mix…"

Ian nodded. "Preaching to the choir, Alvin. Did you tell the rest of the board?"

"Of course. They filed it under 'acceptable risk' and moved on with their day."

Penelope looked up. "Then maybe we should do the same."

"What do you mean?" Maria asked.

Penelope tucked the papers back into the file. "I mean, there's no point in arguing about whether these are the contestants we _should_ have. In a few days, they're going to be the contestants we _do_ have, and we owe it to them to be as prepared as we can."

To her relief, Maria agreed. "Okay. Looks like we need to shift things around again."

Ian sighed, flipping through his copy of the file. "Okay, then. So we have a kid who…" He trailed off, peeking over Maria's shoulder and pointing at a word. "What's lexi—"

Penelope was already ahead of him. "Mine."

Maria looked up, surprised. "Are you sure? I used to teach—"

Penelope shook her head. "No. I've got this. Trust me."

That was all it took. She was still surprised by that sometimes. She was the youngest, after all. But her power – and the fact that she'd actually survived the Games last year – made her more equipped to handle a few of the more dangerous contestants. Penelope skimmed through the rest of the new additions. Meanwhile, Alvin plucked a few sheets of paper from the table and handed them to Vincent, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

"I think you might want this one."

* * *

" _Nothing's real to you 'til you've named it, given it limits."_

* * *

 **And here's the list!**

 **And before anyone points it out ... No, I didn't get the numbers wrong in the chapter. I know that 28 is not 30. (** **Although if you ask nicely I can show you a mathematical proof of why it is.)** **And one chronokinetic is not the same as three, no matter how wibbly-wobbly the timey-wimey gets. Trust me, I didn't mess up the numbers.**

 **Spelling, on the other hand ... If I misspelled anything either here or on the website, _please_ let me know. As much as I try to double-check, it does happen, so I'd rather you tell me _now_ than halfway through the story when I've gotten used to a certain spelling. Also, if you have a different picture you'd like me to use, just let me know. (Again, sooner is better.)**

 **And here they are!**

* * *

 **Contestant List:**

Alannah Cavan, 12  
Kenji Rose, 12  
Fae Tomasini, 13  
Joseph Harris, 13  
Henry Helstrom, 14  
Alphonso Bell-Garcia, 15  
Emery Mullins, 15  
Kiara Moore, 15  
Manaka Shizue, 15  
Elio Haines, 16  
Kylena Albright, 16  
Makenzie Norwood, 16  
Sebastian "Seb" Krause, 16  
Coburn Hughes, 17  
Evelyn Hong, 17  
Frederick William Phillip Bouvy, 17  
Concepcion "Lea" Cervantes, 18  
Olivet "Liv" Holle, 18  
Viorel "Vi" Voclain, 18  
Iola Boman, 19  
Marcus Del Rio, 19  
Richard "Rick" Clifton, 19  
Savannah Kingston, 19  
Jaime Sanchez, 20  
Ansel Moore, 21  
Elena Burleigh, 21  
Sybil Herveaux, 21  
Lilith Haywood, 23  
Caihong Li "Lee", 25  
Florence Roos, 114


	4. Choices

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** And here's the first of our seven collection chapters. Mini bios will be updated on the website as the tributes are introduced in-story.

Also, I realized about halfway through that all my Catholics ended up in the same chapter. XD It wasn't deliberate; they just ended up clumped together in southwest part of the country and therefore ended up getting picked up by the same person. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Thank you to _Flintlightning_ , _MornieGalad Baggins,_ and _Wonder Tribute_ for Marcus, Lea, and Jaime, respectively, and to _TheAmazingJAJ_ for both Fae and Coburn.

* * *

 **Choices**

* * *

 **Representative Mack Urban, 37  
** **March 15th, 07:58 MST**

He hoped they'd made the right choices.

Mack glanced over their list of contestants one more time before tucking it back into a folder inside the car. Then he shut the door, locked the car, and joined the last few stragglers as they made their way inside the church. The back pews were full, so he made his way about halfway to the front, genuflected, and slipped into a side pew, smiling at the little girl in front of him.

She was about five or six years old, her hair neatly braided but her light green dress a bit too long for her. A hand-me-down, probably, from one of her older sisters. There were two older girls beside her, along with a little boy, as well as their parents. Mack gave the little girl a wink as they rose for the gathering song.

" _Take up your cross, the Savior said,  
_ _If you would My disciple be.  
_ _Take up your cross with willing heart,  
_ _And humbly follow after Me."_

Mack couldn't help a smile as the music played – one last familiar feeling before he dove back into a world that seemed increasingly chaotic and unpredictable. It was his job to help bring some order to that chaos. The first Games had made that job easier. At least now people were more willing to admit that there was a problem, that mutants needed to be dealt with. Increasingly, the question wasn't whether something should be done, but what should be done, and how.

And that was his job – to provide the answers to those questions. His proposal regarding mutant resettlement had been largely accepted in Congress, but he had to admit that the question posed by Senator Kinsinger still gnawed at him. Then what?

He had some ideas. Oh, he had plenty of ideas. After all, there were so many things that mutant powers could be useful for, if only they could be contained. There were mutants who could generate enough energy to power small cities. There were mutants whose abilities could calm storms or cure illnesses or … or any number of other things.

But first they had to be contained. They had to be controlled, both for their own good and for the good of those around them. For the good of families like the one right in front of him. In order for them to live their lives in safety, to enjoy a peaceful Sunday like this one together, they had to be protected.

That was what the Games were, after all – a reminder that normal, everyday people needed to be protected from the destruction that mutants were capable of causing. Which was why he hadn't objected to collecting their contestants on a Sunday. Yes, Sundays were supposed to be a day of rest, but the public would rest easier knowing that the mutant threat was being dealt with. He could live with that.

" _Take up your cross, then in His strength  
_ _And calmly every danger brave.  
_ _It guides you to a better home  
_ _And leads to victory o'er the grave."_

Mack nodded as the last few notes of the song died out. Victory over the grave – over death, over chaos, over destruction. That was their real victory, and they were well on their way. And if the path to achieving it came with a little pain, a little hardship for some of them … Well, that was their cross to bear, for the good of all mankind.

For the good of humankind.

* * *

 **Marcus Del Rio, 19  
** **Farmington, NM**

 **09:35 MST**

Even getting up in the morning was becoming a harder choice to make

Marcus pulled the covers over his head as his mother's voice slowed down drastically. "Just a few more minutes," he muttered, glancing at the alarm clock on the stand beside him, which had barely moved since the last time she'd called. Marcus closed his eyes. He wasn't sleepy – not really. He just didn't want to get _up_. It was exhausting.

It hadn't always been. A little over a year ago, everything had been different. He'd been a high school senior and a star athlete. His junior year, he'd led his school's baseball team to a win at the state championship, and there had been no doubt in his mind that he'd be able to do so again. It had never seemed to be a question of _if_ he would be a great professional athlete, but _when_ , and _how_ great.

But then, almost exactly a year ago now, everything had gone to hell. The incident in Alaska had had repercussions beyond what many people realized, and one of the first dominoes to fall was an increased scrutiny of top athletes. After it had been revealed that Cassidy and Ben had competed in surfing and football, respectively, people were quick to jump to the conclusion that any athlete whose abilities seemed out of the ordinary must be a mutant.

In his case, of course, they were right – as well as in the case of his mentor, Eddie Cruz, a baseball player whose enhanced strength was, in fact, due to his mutation. After Eddie had been targeted, a list had been leaked that included not only Eddie's name, but Marcus', as well – a list of mutant patients of a specialist who had helped them learn to control their abilities.

Marcus had immediately been cut from the baseball team, and there had been talk of forfeiting the previous year's championship due to his actions. His _cheating_ , was what they said. But how was it cheating if he was using the talents he had? Wasn't that what _every_ athlete did? How many of the athletes in Halls of Fame across the country were really mutants?

Besides, it wasn't as if he'd made things _too_ easy for himself. He could have slowed down time so drastically that they would barely see him running by. But he hadn't. Sure, he'd slowed down a pitch every now and then to make it easier to hit. Yeah, he'd slowed down the other team's runners just a _little_ so he could outrun them to home plate. But wasn't that what _anyone_ would do in his place, if only they could?

Once the list had been released, of course, he'd had no choice but to register as a mutant. He'd struggled through the last few months of his senior year, doing his best to ignore the sneers, the stares, the fear in his classmates' eyes. They hated him … And why? Because of what a few mutants had done on some island?

No. No, that was just an excuse, really. The hatred had always been there, as much as he'd tried to tell himself otherwise. That was why he'd never told his coaches, his teammates, or even his closest friends about his power. As long as he was just an amazing athlete, he was a star. But as a mutant…

Marcus rolled over a little as his mother called up to him again. She was trying – _really_ trying. He felt bad, sometimes, about what she had gone through for his sake. She had always come to every game, driven him to every practice, scraped together the money to buy the equipment he needed, only for everything to blow up in their faces. It wasn't fair.

Slowly, Marcus sat up in bed, blinking at the laptop screen, which was flashing a reminder that his essay was due by midnight. He hadn't even started on it. It had been his mother's idea to enroll in a few online courses. Online, no one knew who Marcus Del Rio was, or that he was a mutant. And at least it was better than high school. That was what he tried to tell himself.

Suddenly, the sound of a doorbell interrupted his thoughts. Marcus stretched a little, rubbing his eyes. Who would be coming to see him on a Sunday morning? Who would be coming to see him at all? "Marcus!" his mother called, but there was something different in her tone this time. Something urgent.

Marcus threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and opened the bedroom door. As he peered down the hall, he could see a man at the door. He was wearing a suit and tie and looked almost familiar from somewhere. He just couldn't place…

Marcus took a step back as he realized where he knew the man from. Mack Urban, one of the loudest anti-mutant voices in the government. Marcus took a deep breath and stepped out of his room, glaring at the congressman. "What do you want?"

"You," he answered simply. "We want you, Mr. Del Rio."

His mother stepped between them, her face red. "He's not going anywhere with you."

But there was something in the man's voice – something threatening behind his calm demeanor. Behind him, outside the house, Marcus had no doubt there was a Sentinel or two. He could try to run. Maybe he would even be able to get away. But even if he could slow down time enough to escape, his mother would still be there. What would they do to her?

Marcus shook his head, taking a step towards the door. "I come with you, and you leave her alone?"

"Marcus—" his mother began.

But Mack cut her off. "We have no business with your mother. Just you. You come without a fuss, and we have no reason to stay."

Marcus nodded a little, wrapped his mom in a hug, and followed Mack out into the morning light. Sure enough, there were a few Sentinels standing by, as well as a large van. Once they were inside the van, Mack handed Marcus a collar. Marcus turned it over in his hands. An inhibitor collar, much like the ones the mutants on the island had worn the year before, except this one wasn't made of metal. It was some sort of rubbery plastic, instead. Marcus took a deep breath, slipping the collar on.

"So where are we going?"

* * *

 **Lea Cervantes, 18  
** **Tuscon, AZ**

 **12:42 MST**

Most of these people didn't have any other choice.

Lea smiled warmly as she poured another ladle full of soup into an older woman's bowl. "Thank you, my dear," the woman muttered as she moved along down the line. Lea wiped a little of the sweat from her forehead. The line was beginning to thin a little bit, giving her a chance to look around the room. Some of the people she knew; others were newcomers. She couldn't help but wonder how many of them were like her.

How many of them were mutants.

Some of them obviously were, of course. A few with oddly colored skin, or fur or scales where their skin should be. Occasionally, she caught sight of a tail or a forked tongue. They were the ones with no choice. They didn't have the option to hide what they were. It was there, plain as day, for all the world to see. A few of them tried to cover their appearance with long coats or large hats. But most didn't bother. Not here.

Lea glanced over at Sister Antonia, who stood by the door to greet anyone who might arrive a bit late for the meal. Beside her on the door were etched the words "All Are Welcome." Every few days, they would arrive to find an obscene message painted over the words, but they always cleaned it off. Once or twice, a brick had come flying through the window. But that was really the worst of it. For the most part, people simply avoided them.

Lea rolled up her sleeves, wiping her hands off on her apron as the last few stragglers made their way through the line. It wasn't as if they catered especially to mutants, after all. They simply didn't turn them away. They didn't turn _anyone_ away. "I was a stranger, and you welcomed me," was what the sisters would say to anyone who tried to argue with them.

They had more patience than Lea did.

"Concepcion Cervantes?"

Lea cringed and turned towards the voice. 'Concepcion' was the name her parents had given her, but she'd never liked it. It was too stiff, too formal, too … traditional. It was a funny thought, maybe, considering she'd enrolled in the Franciscan sisters' boarding school a few years ago. But at least this way, she wasn't sitting around in a stuffy old church reciting prayers in Latin and chanting tuneless songs. She was out in the world _doing_ something. Sure, at the moment, that 'something' was dishing out soup, but at least she was doing something useful.

The man who had spoken was watching her curiously. "Lea, if you don't mind," she corrected, offering him a bowl.

He certainly didn't look like their usual customers. His suit was clean and well-pressed, his tie perfectly straight, his hair neatly trimmed. But sometimes people liked to keep up appearances even when they were going through hard times. She was about to pour him some soup when he put the bowl down. "Lea, then. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?"

Lea raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

"I don't think you'd want this made public," the man offered. "It's about your … abilities."

 _Crap_. They'd found out. She'd always known it was a possibility, of course, but she'd thought she'd been careful enough. Sure, it probably looked odd to an outside eye for someone who'd had little interest in sports throughout elementary school to suddenly develop an interest. And anyone who looked closely enough would probably think it odd that she spent so little time practicing. But what was she supposed to do? _Pretend_ to practice for hours on end when all she needed was one glimpse at a professional's moves in order to copy them?

But she had been careful – careful not to be _too_ perfect, not to stand out _too_ much. And it wasn't as if she'd tried out for the national gymnastics team or anything. She'd been content to represent her boarding school in local tournaments. It had never been about the fame or the recognition, after all. It was just … well, _fun_.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." It was an obvious lie, and the sisters would probably be disappointed in her, but what was she supposed to do? Admit that she was a mutant in front of all these people?

The thought hit her like a wave. Why _not_? It was nothing to be ashamed of, as much as the government wanted them to believe differently. And a lot of these people didn't have the same options she did. They didn't have the choice to hide their powers. She always had, and her life had been easier because of it. But now … now there was nowhere to hide.

The man in front of her sighed. "Okay, so we're doing this. Lea Cervantes, you've been identified as an unregistered mutant, and you need to come with me before anyone gets hurt." More people were listening now. He'd caught their interest. Heck, for some of them, this was probably the most interesting thing to happen in a month.

Lea straightened up, setting down her ladle. "Hurt? Who's going to get hurt? Do you even have any idea what I can _do_?"

The man nodded. "I do. Probably better than you do. Repetitive muscle memory, I believe. Any action you see – even once – you can repeat perfectly. Quite impressive, really." He lowered his voice. "But I think you misunderstood me, Miss Cervantes. I didn't mean to imply that _you_ were going to hurt anyone. There are Sentinels waiting outside to take you by force if necessary. It would be unfortunate if anything were to happen to this … lovely establishment."

Lea swallowed hard. He was threatening them – _all_ of them. A room full of people, and why? What did he want with her? Whatever it was, it wasn't worth putting all these people in danger. She followed him towards the door.

That was when she saw Sister Antonia standing in the way. "Move aside, sister, if you please," the man sighed. "I don't want any trouble."

"Neither do we," Sister Antonia replied. "But you have no right to take her. Lea hasn't done anything wrong."

The man waved a hand. "Never said she had. Please move aside, or I'll have to ask the Sentinels to place you under arrest."

"Fine."

The man nodded to one of the Sentinels, and a hand reached down and lifted Sister Antonia out of the way. "Wait!" Lea called desperately. "Don't hurt her."

"Never intended to," the man shrugged, turning to the Sentinel. "Wait until we're gone, then let her go. We don't want any trouble."

"Thought I was under arrest," Sister Antonia spat.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" the man chuckled. "The headlines, the publicity, all turned against us, making you look like martyrs." He shook his head. "Sorry, sister. Not today." He turned to Lea, motioning towards the van beside them.

"Let's get out of here."

* * *

 **Jaime Sanchez, 20  
** **Doña Ana, NM**

 **15:03 MST**

It was beginning to look like they'd made the right choice, after all.

Jaime slid a puzzle piece into place as the timer on their desk rang. Twenty minutes of break time, then twenty minutes of studying. That was what they'd told themself. They had three mid-term exams coming up this week. Jaime stretched their arms as they stood up, leaving the rest of the jigsaw puzzle on the floor and resetting the timer for twenty more minutes.

Jaime plopped down in their chair and opened their astronomy book to the last page they'd marked. It had sounded like a fun class at the start of the semester. Besides, it fulfilled the science requirement they'd need for their degree, once they transferred colleges. That was the plan, at least. A year or two at the local community college, getting some of their general requirements out of the way. Then on to a larger college to get their degree in computer science.

That hadn't always been the plan. Their senior year of high school, they'd been planning to go off to college right after high school. But then everything had fallen apart. Their grandmother had passed away, and they hadn't wanted to leave their father alone. On top of that, the Mutant Registration Act had been passed shortly after. Once they'd registered, each of the colleges they'd applied to had contacted them to cancel their scholarship offers.

Officially, they couldn't do that simply because they were a mutant. Probably. But if they'd learned anything over the past few years, it was that it was important to choose their battles. Yes, getting those scholarships would have been nice, but things weren't really that bad. After taking a year off from school working at a local restaurant, they'd been able to afford a few courses last semester, and almost a full load now. Maybe it wasn't perfect, but they were making it work.

The two of them had always managed to make it work somehow – their father and them. People were always quick to complain about how bad things were, but the truth was, it could always be worse. It certainly _would_ be worse if they'd stayed in Venezuela, where their mother had been killed. As uncomfortable as things were for mutants in the States, there were rumors about other countries where mutants or even _suspected_ mutants were enslaved or even killed outright.

This wasn't perfect, but it was better. There was always somewhere where things were worse. Maybe there always would be.

Besides, it wasn't as if registering as a mutant had ruined their life. They'd already been on the government's radar because of their father's immigration status. They'd been worried, at first, that revealing they were a mutant might put their father in danger, that he might be deported, but so far, nothing had come of that. The government had bigger fish to fry.

"Jaime!" their father called from the next room. "It's past three! Time to go!"

"Go?" Where were they supposed to be going?

"The pot luck. We're going to be late."

Jaime rolled their eyes. If it was past three, they were _already_ late. No one arrived early for a church potluck. "Just a few more minutes!" Jaime called back. They sighed, closing their book. Their father meant well, but pot lucks at Our Lady of Purification always meant a bunch of fussy old ladies trying to make small talk, and small children running around everywhere, and so much … so much _noise._ So much chaos.

Oh, the people were _nice_ , for the most part. They smiled. They chattered. But it wasn't as if any of them were really interested in them. Jaime chuckled. Not that there was much to be interested in. Between their job and their classes, they didn't really have much of a social life. But maybe that was for the best, all things considered.

Especially considering their power.

Jaime shook their head as they stood up and threw on a pair of socks and shoes. The government knew about their power, but that was no reason to broadcast it to everyone else. If they did _that_ , they knew, people wouldn't be quite so chatty. It wasn't as if they made a habit of going around _using_ their power. They certainly didn't pick people at random on the streets and start projecting pain, but that wouldn't stop people from worrying that they might, if they told them they could.

Still, they had to admit, it was … convenient … to have the option, if they wanted to. If a headache got too bad, they could project a little of it somewhere else. That was how they'd discovered it in the first place. They'd accidentally transferred a headache to their father. Once might be a coincidence, but two or three times was enough to make both of them suspect something was going on. It took them a while to figure out what, but once they'd put the pieces together, they'd avoided transferring pain to their father – or anyone else they knew, for that matter. They tried to avoid doing it at all, if they could. They didn't _want_ to hurt people. They didn't _want_ to be a monster.

"Jaime!" There was a slight edge to their father's voice this time, as if he was getting impatient.

"Take it easy!" Jaime called back, chuckling as they headed out into the living room. "I'm sure there'll be plenty left for—"

They stopped short when they saw the stranger standing in the doorway. "Jaime Sanchez?" the man asked, peering past their father.

Jaime took a step back. "Yes." No point in trying to deny it. They were in enough files for him to recognize them. "Can I help you?"

The stranger smiled a little. "Actually, you can. We need to do a little update to your paperwork, if you don't mind. Just need to double-check a few things, keep your picture up to date, things like that."

Jaime raised an eyebrow. "On a Sunday?"

The man shrugged. "Look, you can come with me now, make this simple, or things can get … messy."

 _Shit_. Shit, shit, shit. They knew that tone. This wasn't about paperwork. But what _was_ it about? They hadn't done anything. Well, certainly nothing _that_ bad. What was he planning to do to them? What would he do to their father? They'd heard rumors of more dangerous mutants simply disappearing. Were they killed? Imprisoned? Deported? What had they done to make anyone think they were _that_ dangerous?

Their thoughts were interrupted by their father, who immediately stepped between them and the man at the door. "Jaime's not going anywhere with you."

That snapped them out of it. "It's okay," they said quietly, stepping in front of their father. "It's probably nothing. Just a bit of paperwork, like he said, right?"

"Jaime—"

"It's all right." They wrapped their arms around their father and held on close for a moment. "I'll be back soon, and we'll hit that potluck together. All right?"

There were tears in their father's eyes, but he stepped aside as the man led Jaime to a van outside. "Right call," the stranger agreed. "That could have been a lot worse." But Jaime was already wiping tears from their eyes, already straining to look out the back window and catch one last glimpse of their father.

What were they supposed to do now?

* * *

 **Fae Tomasini, 13  
** **Corpus Christi, TX**

 **19:23 CST**

She was glad Kate had chosen the beach for her party, even after the storm the night before.

Fae grinned as Kate's mother pulled into the Tomasinis' driveway. "Thanks for the ride!" she called, climbing out of the minivan. "See you tomorrow, Kate!"

"See you tomorrow!" her friend called as the door closed behind her. Fae quickly bounded up the front steps, reaching under the doormat for the key. Her parents usually didn't let her stay at home alone for long, but this was a special occasion. It was Kate's thirteenth birthday, and the rest of Fae's family had decided to go see a movie. So until they got back, the house was all hers.

It wouldn't take them long, of course. Maybe another twenty minutes or so. Fae shook the sand from her shoes before stepping through the door. She had already dried off, but there was still sand _everywhere_. That was her fault, really; it had been her idea for them to bury each other in the sand.

Fae took out her camera, quickly choosing a few of the videos to post to her online diary. The camera had been her mother's idea. That way, she wasn't wasting the data on her iPhone. It wouldn't take long for the videos to upload, and in the meantime, maybe she could get this sand out of her hair. Besides, the acoustics were better in the shower. She could let her videos upload, get rid of the sand, and practice for the upcoming concert all at once. Perfect.

It wasn't a large concert or anything. Just their school's spring concert that featured both the band and the choir. The audience would be full of families and friends, but not many other people. That was all right, though. It wasn't about the recognition. It was about using her gift to bring a little joy into people's lives.

Not everyone saw mutations as a gift, of course, but that was always how she'd thought of hers. After all, it wasn't as if her power was dangerous – as long as she used it properly. She'd always had perfect pitch, and if she sang just right, she could lull people to sleep. She could carry and hold notes beyond any normal human's vocal range, and could scream at supersonic levels.

That one, she'd discovered completely by accident when a girl at school had pulled her hair. She'd been horrified to learn that she'd come close to bursting the girl's eardrums. After that, her mother had taken her to a doctor. Then a therapist. And, finally, their priest. That had been a little scary, but it hadn't taken the young priest long to decide that she wasn't possessed or evil or even very dangerous. She was just a mutant, and her gift, as he called it, was pleasing to the Lord.

Fae grinned, her voice carrying through the house as the warm water splashed over her, rinsing the sand away, making her clean. _Clean_. That was how she always felt when she sang, as if the music was cleansing her soul somehow, making it new and fresh. She ended on a high note and turned off the water.

It was only then that she heard the doorbell. How long had it been ringing? "Just a moment!" Fae called, throwing on a bright tie-dye shirt and jeans. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail until she could dry it, then hurried to the door. A man stood outside, pressing the doorbell again just before she opened it. "Sorry about that," Fae apologized, studying the man's clothes. A fresh suit and tie, all business. Probably here to see her father. "He's not here right now."

"Who?"

"My father. You're here to see him, right?"

The man smiled a little. "Actually, Fae, I'm here to see you."

"Me?" What could he possibly want with her?

"My name's Mack Urban. I'm with the Mutant Affairs—"

"—Advisory Board," Fae finished. She'd registered as a mutant almost as soon as the government had passed the Mutant Registration Act. Her mother had advised against it, but what was the harm? The government only wanted to keep track of mutants for everyone's safety. The more they knew about mutants, the more they could do to help them, right?

"That's right." Mack held out his hand. "You're a very bright young lady, Fae."

"Thank you."

"My colleagues and I are conducting a series of studies on mutations, and we found yours particularly interesting."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. Not just for entertainment, mind you. Your talent for soothing people could have real therapeutic value. Would you mind coming with me for a little while?"

"Right now?"

"Your parents have already been informed, of course. It won't take long – just a few tests, a little paperwork, and you'll be back home before you know it."

Fae reached for a pair of sandals by the door. "Okay." Maybe the man was a bit odd, but it would be fun. An adventure. And besides, if it meant helping people in the long run, didn't that mean it was the right thing to do? She grabbed her camera and iPhone and followed Mack to the van outside.

As they climbed in, Mack's phone rang. He glanced at the number, then smiled at Fae. "Just a second." He pressed a button. "Senator Hughes. Always a pleasure. What can I … Oh, I'm sorry, Katrina, I have this listed as your husband's number. What can I do for you?" There was a pause. "I see." A longer pause. "Of _course_ , Mrs. Hughes. No need to worry. None at all. I'll be there just as soon as I can. I'm actually _right_ in the neighborhood." He leaned back in the driver's seat. "No, no, no, it's no trouble. I'm sure Nicholas won't mind. The more, the merrier. I'll see you soon." Mack hung up, then rolled his eyes. "No trouble, my a— foot. Politicians."

Fae giggled. " _You're_ a politician."

"Fair enough," Mack sighed. "Politicians' wives, then. Still, I owe them a favor or two. Buckle up, Fae. We've got one more stop to make."

Fae quickly buckled her seat belt as the van started to roll down the driveway. Through the window, she could see her parents' car pull into their driveway, and her brother Doug climbing out of the back seat. "Wait!" Fae called. "They're back. Can I just say goodbye real quick?"

Mack shook his head, speeding up a little. "Sorry, Fae. _Really_ on a tight schedule now. But don't you worry. You'll be back soon enough."

Soon enough. She would be back soon enough. Fae gave a little wave as Doug started racing towards the van, screaming something. Fae rolled down the window. "I'll be back soon!" she called, snapping a picture with her camera as her brother faded into the distance.

She'd have to show him how silly he looked once she got back.

* * *

 **Coburn Hughes, 17  
** **North Padre Island, TX**

 **19:51 CST**

He wished he could have made a different choice.

Coburn shook his head as he sat beside his sister's hospital bed, drumming his fingers on the side of the chair. If only he hadn't gone to the beach last night. The weather hadn't looked good from the start, but he and Cari only had two weeks before they went back to Canada with their mother. He'd wanted to spend as much time outside in the warmer weather while he could, and he'd never been able to resist the ocean.

The storm had sent him home early, however – but not early enough. Bits of debris whipped up by the wind had nearly hit him as he'd raced back to the house, dodging branches and trying to keep the flying sand out of his eyes. By the time he'd reached the house, the rain had died down, but the wind hadn't. He'd been so desperate to get inside, he hadn't even noticed that his hand had caught fire until…

Until he'd reached for the door handle, and the flames had immediately leapt from his hand to the door, and then the rest of the house. It hadn't taken them long to get dangerously hot. The fires always got hotter when he was frightened, and he'd been terrified. He'd woken his father and stepmother, along with his younger step-brother Jonathan. But Cari had been on the second floor, trapped until she'd fought her way through the smoke to one of the outer rooms, and the only way out had been to jump from the window.

She hadn't even hesitated. She never did. She'd leapt from the window, landing with a _crack_ he would never forget. But even worse than the sound was a brief flash of pain, coming from his twin. For one instant, she'd lost control, as well, and her thoughts had leapt into his.

But only for a moment. Their father had already contacted the authorities, and Cari had been rushed to the nearest hospital, on the mainland in Corpus Christi. The doctors had been quick to assure them that she would be all right. She had some burns, mostly on her arms where she'd pushed through a burning door to get through the flames. She'd broken her left arm and bruised a few ribs when she'd jumped. But all of those would heal. There wouldn't be any lasting damage.

She'd gotten lucky. They all had. Coburn and his father had stayed with Cari all night. Only once their father had finally been convinced to get some sleep had Cari admitted that she knew the truth. That Coburn had started the fire.

She wasn't upset – not really. Not that he had almost gotten her killed. She was more upset that he hadn't told her about his power. Of course, she'd been hiding hers, as well. They'd both been upset. Angry, even. For a moment, Coburn had been worried that maybe they'd been _too_ loud, that someone may have heard them. But they'd worked it out. They always did. The important thing was that they both knew now. That neither of them would have to deal with their powers alone.

Coburn sighed. He had never wanted to deal with his powers. He had never wanted them at all. At least Cari's power was good for something. She could read minds, she'd said, but she hadn't been certain that it worked the other way around until the night before. She'd always been too nervous to try talking to someone, for fear they might figure out who was doing the talking. She hadn't wanted to risk anyone else finding out she was a mutant.

Suddenly, Coburn heard the door open behind him. He turned, expecting his father, or maybe one of the doctors. Instead, a man in a suit and tie stood there, watching him. "Coburn Hughes?"

"Yes?"

"I need you to come with me."

"Why?"

"Just a few questions about the … incident yesterday."

"I already talked to the police." And he had. They all had. The official story was that the house had been struck by lightning. It was a lie, of course, but only Cari knew that.

Right?

"I'm not with the police. My name is Mack Urban. I'm—"

 _Shit._ Coburn leapt to his feet, but there was only one door. There was a window, but that didn't seem like a great idea, all things considered. He took a few steps away from the stranger. Well, not _entirely_ a stranger. Mack Urban was well-known enough in Texas – and probably the rest of the country by now – as one of the biggest proponents of dealing with the mutant problem while they still could.

Coburn's stomach churned. He hadn't _meant_ to cause any problems. He'd never _wanted_ to be a mutant – and certainly hadn't wanted a power as dangerous as the one he had. And it _was_ dangerous; he could hardly deny that now. But that didn't mean that _he_ was dangerous.

Did it?

Maybe it did. Maybe not. Coburn took a deep breath and ran towards the door. Startled, Mack stepped out of the way just in time. Maybe he was afraid.

Maybe he was _right_ to be afraid.

Coburn raced down the hall. Which was the quickest way out of the building? Suddenly, he heard something – something in his head. " _Coburn. Stop. There are Sentinels outside."_

Shit. Sentinels. That was why the congressman had let him just run past. He knew there was no way out of the hospital. Coburn froze. What was he supposed to do now? " _So what do I do?"_ he thought as hard as he could, hoping Cari would be able to hear him.

For a long, terrible moment, there was silence, and Coburn thought that maybe she hadn't heard him. Or, even worse, maybe she didn't know what to do either. She _always_ seemed to know what to do. But then he could hear her again. " _Go with them."_

" _What?"_

" _There's no way out of here – not now. Go with them, and we'll figure something out, you and me. Stay in touch, and I'll be able to find you. Maybe dad can help."_

No. No, that wasn't an option. Not really. But he didn't want to tell her that. If the government was involved, it was probably because their father had called someone. Or their stepmother, maybe. Not that it really mattered which of them had alerted the authorities. Either way, their family was just afraid of him as the rest of the world would be.

Coburn shook his head and turned back towards his sister's room in time to see Mack heading in his direction. "Fine. I'll go with you."

Mack looked surprised, but he certainly wasn't going to argue. Maybe he figured Coburn had seen the Sentinels outside. Maybe he was just glad Coburn hadn't burst into flames then and there. He held out a thin, plastic collar. "I'm sure you'll understand if I ask you to put this on. We don't want any more … incidents on the way to our destination."

Coburn took the collar and turned it over in his hands. It was plastic and rather flimsy-looking, but something told him it was probably stronger than it looked. He slid the collar around his neck, and it immediately snapped shut. Mack nodded.

"Thanks for making things easier for both of us."

* * *

 **Representative Mack Urban, 37  
** **En Route to Calpet, WY**

 **20:41 CST**

He didn't have much of a choice now.

Mack stretched a little before taking a seat next to their pilot. The five mutants were in the back of the small plane, no doubt trying to work out what was going on. Marcus seemed to have some idea of what he was getting into, and most of the others could probably tell it wasn't going to be good, but Fae … well, she was in for a rude awakening.

Mack leaned back in his seat. She hadn't been his idea, but one of their goals when selecting contestants had been to ensure a variety of ages. If it were up to him, they would probably have left off a few of the younger contestants, but it wasn't just up to him. Besides, her power _did_ have potential. If she wanted to, she could leave someone deaf – or maybe even worse. That was the idea, after all – to demonstrate that _any_ power could be dangerous, in the wrong hands. And that _anyone's_ hands could be the wrong hands, given the right circumstances.

Coburn, on the other hand – that hadn't been a hard decision. Now he just had to get Nicholas' approval. Maybe he should have contacted Nicholas first, but … well, sometimes it was better to ask forgiveness than permission. And he couldn't imagine why Nicholas would object to adding _one_ more contestant. They'd had thirty the year before, after all, and had only decided on twenty-eight this year so that they could split the contestants evenly between their four coaches. They could handle one more.

So why hadn't he made the call yet?

Mack finally took his cell phone out of his pocket. He'd confiscated the mutants' phones, of course, along with any other gadgets they had, and disabled the GPS tracking. Not that it would have made much difference; reception was pretty spotty once they got far enough into the mountains, anyway. So he might as well call now…

The phone only rang twice before Nicholas picked up. "What is it, Mack?"

Mack flinched. Nicholas sounded tired. "If this is a bad time—"

"It's as good as any," Nicholas assured him. "Just had a few … complications. You?"

"Things went pretty smoothly. Just a little hiccup after my last stop. You know Senator Hughes?"

"Vaguely."

"His wife called me about his son. Her stepson. Seems the boy set fire to their vacation home out on some island. His sister was hurt, and … well, they wanted me to deal with it."

There was silence for a moment. "Great," Nicholas muttered.

"If it's a problem, we could…"

"No. No, we'll manage. It's just that … well, Judah had a little 'hiccup,' too. So we're up to thirty. But that should be fine, as long as there aren't any more … complications."

Mack couldn't help a smile. He'd expected a bit more resistance, but Nicholas didn't seem in an arguing mood. "I guess thirty's our lucky number, then," he offered.

But Nicholas had already hung up.

* * *

 _"Only living beings possess the ability to change, and make new choices."_


	5. Legacy

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Thank you to _So hard to choose usernames_ , _santiago. poncini_ _20_ , _symphorophilia_ , and _Greybeard mmmmmm3_ for Kenji, Alannah, Evelyn, and Rick, respectively.

* * *

 **Legacy**

* * *

 **Secretary Nicholas Wright, 64  
** **March 15th, 07:45 CST**

No one would remember how it had all started.

Nicholas glanced around as he made his way through the streets of Southaven. It was early on a Sunday morning, but the streets were already bustling. People were making their way this way and that, still largely oblivious to the threats around them. Safe in their little fantasy, content that everything would continue to be fine.

Not that he could really blame them for that. It had taken him a while to realize exactly how much of a threat mutants posed to humanity, and even longer to come to terms with what they would have to do in order to deal with that threat.

The Games weren't pretty, but they were necessary. They would pave the way for the government to step in and control the mutant population. Eventually, the public would come to accept what they were – an organized fight to the death – rather than the image they still had to maintain, that the Games had been an experiment gone wrong. They still had a long way to go before the public was ready for the truth, but once the Games were firmly in place, no one would care that they had started with a lie.

It was a lie with a grain of truth, after all. No, the mutants weren't volunteers. They hadn't been told beforehand exactly what they had been selected for. But once they had been told the rules of the Games, _they_ were the ones who had made it possible. He and the others, after all, had no way to _force_ the mutants to fight. If they had simply chosen not to comply, they would have had no choice but to call the whole thing off. The success of the Games had hinged on the contestants believing that they had no choice but to do as they were told, to fight until only one remained standing.

Well, _two_ had remained standing, but that had been a necessary concession. Their deal with Diana had allowed them to proceed with the Games without the threat of an attack from the outside. And allowing for two of the mutants to survive would certainly change the dynamics this year. Lillian had all sorts of theories about how the contestants' interactions would change once they knew that two of them could survive.

There was no way to keep it a secret. Not like last year. Last year, the decision to allow two survivors hadn't been made until about halfway through the Games. Even the coaches hadn't known until both Penelope and Piper had been rescued safely. This year, everything was different.

But that wasn't always a bad thing. Nicholas glanced at the two Sentinels, one on either side of the street, following him. Ready to step in if anything happened. A year ago, a pair of Sentinels walking down the street would have attracted more attention. Now, people accepted them as a given, a part of everyday life. A part that was necessary in order to keep them safe.

It was amazing, sometimes, the things people would accept in the name of safety, of protection. They could accept the occasional mutant disappearing without a trace, if it meant they were safer. They could accept Sentinels patrolling down the street if it made them feel more secure.

They would even come to accept the Games, because they were a necessary reminder of what they were being protected _from_. A reminder that the threat was real, that there were mutants all around them. Mutants who looked just like them, their friends, and their neighbors. Mutants who wouldn't hesitate to kill them, given the right circumstances. In the Games, those circumstances were manufactured, but that didn't matter in the end. What mattered was that the public _perceived_ a threat, that they _felt_ unsafe.

Their fear would do the rest.

* * *

 **Kenji Rose, 12  
** **Southaven, MS**

 **07:58 CST**

He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a normal weekend.

Kenji grumbled noncommittally at the sound of knocking on his bedroom door. "I'm up," he mumbled when the knocking continued. He wasn't. His alarm had been about to ring in two minutes anyway, but it was _Sunday_. Sundays were supposed to be for relaxing. But now it was all 'practice, practice, practice' this and 'you have to learn to control your power' that. He was pretty sure his father missed being able to send his kids off to school for training.

It was that thought that finally made him roll out of bed. It wasn't his father's fault. It wasn't his father's fault the school had been attacked by Sentinels. It wasn't his fault his older brother and sister, Isamu and Nami, had been there when it had happened. It wasn't his fault the rest of the family had no idea whether they were alive or not.

Kenji shook his head, stretching his arms a little as he stood up. None of that was _his_ fault, either. But it _was_ his fault his mother had been at the school. For months after Isamu and Nami had gone missing following the attack, he'd been restless, unable to sleep properly, always trying to figure out what he could have done differently. He would wake up exhausted, but never quite sure _why_. Then, one morning, he had woken up to find his mother gone. His little sister Emi had burst into tears when he'd asked where she was.

His father had been just as confused as the rest of them, but eventually, they pieced it together. With all his worrying about what he could have done to change the past, he'd inadvertently sent his consciousness back in time, and he _had_ changed it. Some of the changes were little. They had a cat that Kenji didn't remember, a cat Nami had apparently given him.

That wasn't a big change, but his mother … she'd been worried about him, about his trances, about the way he seemed to know things he never could have known ahead of time. She'd dropped Isamu and Nami off at school, and had stayed to ask Xavier for advice. She'd been there when…

Kenji closed his eyes. He had no memory of any of it, just as he had no memory of the cat, which he'd apparently named Mr. Whiskers. His father and sisters had filled him in on the rest – how officials from the government had come to the house to inform them that her body had been recovered, and that they'd confiscated it for testing. His older siblings were missing; their bodies hadn't been recovered, but the family had no way of knowing whether that was because they'd escaped or simply because their bodies had been destroyed or unidentified.

He wanted to fix it. To go back and make everything right. But he couldn't control it. He could control what he did, of course, but he couldn't control the consequences. Trying to change it now might only make things worse. What if his whole family ended up going with his mother to Xavier's? He might end up killing them all.

No. No, as soon as he'd realized just how dangerous his power was, he'd sworn off using it to change the past. He'd _wanted_ to swear off using it altogether, but his father had insisted that he learn to control it instead. And it was hard to argue with that. Dangerous mutations needed to be controlled – for everyone's safety. That was what the government was trying to do, after all. Keep ordinary people safe from mutants who posed a danger.

Mutants like him.

"Kenji!" His father's voice caught him off guard. The shout was loud. Sharp. This was more than him being impatient about Kenji being late for training. "Kenji, run!"

Run? Run _where_? Kenji raced out of his room, only to see a pair of Sentinels standing where the door should have been. Mika and Emi were already racing out the side door, and he quickly followed. His father might be able to hold them off for a while. He could control sound waves, and Kenji could already tell he was using it to mute the voice of the man who was standing with the Sentinels. If they couldn't hear his orders…

But he couldn't count on that. Kenji quickly caught up with Mika and Emi, signing to Mika to keep running while he scooped up Emi. He could keep up, despite the extra weight. All he had to do was speed up time a little around himself so that he could keep up with Mika. Emi was already crying, calling for their father. Kenji didn't look back. He didn't dare.

If the Sentinels were coming for any of them, after all, it was probably their father. Muting voices was one thing, but he could also use his power to amplify a sound enough to burst someone's eardrums if he really wanted to. Not that he would ever want to; even after his wife's death and his older children's disappearance, he still held out hope that mutants and humans could learn to coexist peacefully, that humans would eventually come around and realize that they weren't all dangerous, that they could work together to keep each other safe.

Kenji held Emi tightly as they ran. Suddenly, Mika grabbed his arm. _Behind us_ , she signed quickly, and Kenji risked a glance behind. The Sentinels were gaining on them. Quickly. Their father was nowhere in sight. Maybe they weren't after him, after all. Maybe…

Without thinking, Kenji shoved Emi into Mika's arms. If he was right, _he_ was the one the Sentinels wanted. He'd already lost his mother. He may have even lost Isamu and Nami. But he wasn't going to lose them, too.

Not when he could stop it.

 _Keep running_ , Kenji signed, breaking off from the two of them and racing in the opposite direction as quickly as he could – which was pretty quickly, now that he wasn't carrying Emi. Sure enough, the Sentinels followed him. Kenji breathed a sigh of relief. Emi and Mika were safe.

But he couldn't keep this up forever. He could feel his power fading already. Trying to use it for more than a minute or two at a time was draining, and soon the Sentinels were catching up. Kenji slowed to a stop. He had no way to fight them. His mother had tried to fight them, and she'd died, along with all the others. If he was still alive – if they weren't shooting at him yet – it was only because they wanted to take him alive.

The Sentinels stopped a few feet away and quickly lowered a man to the ground. "Glad you decided to be reasonable, Kenji," the older man said with a smile.

"My father—"

"—is alive and well, right where I left him," the man promised. "Your sisters will be returned to him without incident as soon as they're caught; there's no need to drag them into all of this."

"All of this?" Kenji asked.

"Come along quietly and I'll explain everything." The stranger held out a thin plastic collar, which Kenji obediently slid around his neck. It closed with a soft _click_. "Very good," the man nodded. "It's easier on all of us when things go smoothly. I wish everybody had your sense."

 _Everybody._ 'Your mother' were the words he hadn't said. If his mother had surrendered quietly, like he had, she might still be alive. But there was no changing that. Not anymore. There was no changing any of it. He couldn't. He couldn't _let_ himself.

No matter how much he wanted to.

* * *

 **Alannah Cavan, 12  
** **Kansas City, MO**

 **12:03 CST**

Sometimes she could barely remember what they had looked like.

Alannah glanced around the cafeteria as she made her way through the line. It was split pea soup again, for the third time this month. But she held her tongue as the lady behind the counter spooned some more of the green goop into her bowl. It wasn't much, but it was better than things could be.

And far better than she deserved.

A few of the other patients' parents had come today. It was Sunday, and that meant a little time spent with their families. But not her. And that was her fault. She'd had a family, and then…

She hadn't meant to. She'd been too young to understand what she was doing. Too young to realize what her power was. Her parents used to leave her at home with her older brother, which shouldn't have been a problem. He was responsible, and old enough to watch her. But she hadn't wanted him. She hadn't felt _safe_. She had been afraid.

Now, she understood. When she was afraid, she made others afraid, too. She didn't mean to; it just _happened._ Just like other things happened when she was around. Everyone started to lose their grip, to see things that weren't there, hear voices they couldn't possibly be hearing.

Her brother Finnegan had been the first, when he was only eighteen. He hadn't been able to handle the voices, the hallucinations, the insanity. He'd taken his own life, not realizing that she had been watching. Or maybe he _had_ known, and simply hadn't cared. Maybe he'd realized it was her fault, and had wanted her to watch.

Her parents hadn't put it together – not really. They only knew that the fear was coming from _somewhere_. Somewhere close to them. They'd retreated inside their house, pulling her out of school, only venturing outside to get food. They'd taped up the doors, nailed boards over the windows, trying to shut out the madness. They didn't know – they _couldn't_ have known – that the source had been trapped inside with them all along.

It had been a Sunday, much like this one, only two years ago, when her mother had lost it. She'd killed her own husband, and then tried to eat him. Then she'd come after Alannah with a steak knife, determined to silence the voices once and for all. But Alannah had been faster. She'd taken the knife and slit her own mother's throat. She'd run from the house, terrified, and found her aunt.

Her aunt must have understood, somehow, that it was her fault, because the next thing she knew, she was being checked into a mental institute. It had taken her a while to accept, but it was better for everyone this way. The drugs kept her calm. And when she was calm, she was less likely to hurt someone. Things were better with her in here. Maybe they weren't _good_ , but they were better than they could be.

Better than they would be if she was loose.

Alannah took a seat in the corner with her friends, Travis, Patrick, and Norma. It had taken her months to realize it, but once she'd figured out her power couldn't harm them, the four of them had become thick as thieves. Maybe there was something about people who were already a bit off that protected them from her abilities. Whatever it was, she was grateful. They were a little hint of light in the darkness, a ray of sunshine that she certainly didn't deserve.

Just as she was sitting down, however, Alannah noticed that Patrick was staring at something behind her. No, not something. Some _one_ , she realized as she turned. A man in a suit was making his way towards them. Towards _her_. "Do you know him?" Norma whispered, and Alannah shook her head. She'd never had a visitor – not since her Aunt Maeve had left her here. Who would be coming to see _her_?

The man met her gaze, an easy smile on his face. "Alannah Cavan?" She nodded. There was no point in denying it. One of the doctors had probably told her which one she was, anyway. The man held something out towards her – a thin plastic collar. "I need you to come with me, and I'm sure you'll understand if I ask you to put this on first."

Alannah took the collar and nodded. It was an inhibitor collar, to keep her power in check. The doctors sometimes used them when they needed to transport particularly uncooperative patients. She hadn't given them any trouble in quite a while, but it was probably just a precaution. She slipped the collar around her neck and heard a familiar _click_. "Where are we going?"

"Wyoming," the stranger answered vaguely.

 _Okay_. "Why?" Was something going to happen here? Maybe she was being transferred to a different facility. Maybe they were _all_ being moved.

"Yeah, why?" Norma interrupted before the stranger could answer. "She didn't do anything."

"Well, since she got here, that is," Travis mumbled, earning an elbow in the side from Norma. Patrick remained silent, watching the rest of them.

The man ignored the three of them, his attention focused on Alannah. "It's not because of anything you've done, Alannah. It's because of what you _are_. We're in need of mutants like you for a little experiment."

Experiment. That rang a bell. What had happened on the island last year – they'd called that an experiment. She remembered watching it on the television in the lounge. No one had ever bothered to turn it off. It was a reminder – a reminder of why they were all safer with people like her locked up in here.

"You're part of the MAAB, aren't you." It wasn't really a question. He had to be. That had to be why they wanted her. They could call it an experiment all they wanted; the real purpose was to get rid of mutants. Mutants who were dangerous. Mutants who posed a threat to anyone they came in contact with. Mutants who couldn't be trusted to contain their own powers, because one little slip – just _one_ – could mean death for anyone who happened to be nearby.

The stranger nodded. "Nicholas Wright, Secretary of Mutant Affairs and head of the MAAB."

"And you want me to come with you. To Wyoming."

"That's right."

"To take part in your little experiment and kill other mutants like me."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "My, my, you're sharp. But we shouldn't talk here, I suppose. I'll explain everything on the way."

Alannah nodded and followed him out of the cafeteria. He didn't have to explain. He didn't even have to apologize. Whatever was coming, it couldn't be worse than what she'd already done. She'd killed. She'd forced others to kill. Whatever they wanted her to do – whatever they wanted her to _be_ – it couldn't be worse than that. And whatever they planned to do to her in turn … well, whatever it was, it was better than she deserved. Maybe the rest of the world would be safer this way.

Maybe they would be safer if she was dead.

* * *

 **Evelyn Hong, 17  
** **Manhattan, KS**

 **15:19 CST**

She couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun.

Evelyn rolled over, inadvertently wrapping one of her arms around the back of her neck and around to the front. As much as she didn't want to, she glanced over at the clock. It was after three. Three in the _afternoon_ , on a Sunday no less. There would be hell to pay once she finally went home. Clarissa was lucky; she was nineteen and had her own place. So most of them had crashed at her apartment last night, but the rest of them had apparently gone home – all except Avery, who was watching Evelyn with a smile on her face. "Sleep well?"

Evelyn smirked. "Better than you. You were tossing and turning all night."

Avery chuckled. "Pretty sure that was Jaxx."

Evelyn squinted. Maybe it had been Jaxx. She'd been pretty high; they all had. There was still a ringing in her ears, and her mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls. But they'd had _fun_ , and that was all she'd wanted. It was all she'd ever wanted.

Her parents had taken that away from her, as soon as they'd discovered she was a mutant. She'd been at a dance rehearsal when she was nine years old, and she'd fallen off the stage. She'd gotten back up, ready to go, until she'd realized that everyone was staring at her. Staring at her _leg_ , twisted at an odd angle, everything out of place. But it hadn't hurt. She hadn't broken any bones. And she certainly hadn't hurt anyone else. Her power wasn't dangerous. _She_ wasn't dangerous.

But that hadn't stopped her parents from whisking their whole family across the country and forbidding her from using her powers. They'd hushed it all up, and she'd kept quiet. She'd given up dancing, given up on having friends, on letting anyone get close.

Then she'd met Avery and the others, and none of that seemed to matter anymore. Avery loved her for who she was, mutant power and all. And she loved Avery, more fiercely than she'd ever loved anyone. The last few years had been a whirlwind, all building up to … something. Something still in the distance. For the first time in years, she was flying. With Avery and the others, she felt free.

And she wished she didn't have to go back.

Someday. Someday soon, she would run away for good. It wasn't as if Avery's folks would notice, and her own parents would probably be grateful to have her out of their hair. One less thing to worry about, one less threat to their reputation as esteemed scientists. They were good at what they did; she had to admit that. But that was never the life she'd wanted. She didn't want to be stuck behind a desk all day, fiddling with numbers and equations and paperwork. She wanted to live.

She wanted to _fly._

Avery leaned over and pulled her a little closer. "Have a look at this." She pulled out her phone and scrolled through some of the pictures she'd taken the night before. "I think it's some of our best work yet."

Evelyn took the phone and held it a little closer. Avery was right; the old construction site had practically been _inviting_ them to graffiti it. All those open surfaces, so bland, so _blank_. Now they were full of life, exploding with color. That was what they did – her and the others. They added a little color, a little spark, to everything they touched. Maybe they weren't the respectable, upstanding citizens her parents wanted her to be. But they were _interesting_.

That was better.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. "Who is it?" Evelyn called, before realizing the knock wasn't coming from the bedroom door. It was coming from the front door to the apartment. "Think it's Clarissa?" she asked absently, rolling out of bed.

Avery chuckled. "Why would she knock?"

"Maybe she lost her keys again," Evelyn offered. She couldn't count the number of times she'd shimmied her way through the window to unlock the door because Clarissa had misplaced her keys. Not that it bothered her; it gave her a chance to show off. Sometimes, she was convinced Clarissa did it on purpose to make her feel useful. And maybe it was silly, but it felt _good_ to be needed. At least her friends appreciated what she could do. They'd never once asked her to hide her powers.

Evelyn made her way to the door and glanced out the peephole. There was definitely someone standing there, and it wasn't Clarissa. She couldn't quite make out who it was, though. The stranger knocked again. "Evelyn Hong?"

 _Shit_. If someone knew she was here, it meant her parents must have figured out where she was. "Hurry," Avery whispered, shoving Evelyn towards the window. "I'll stall."

Evelyn blew Avery a kiss as she folded herself small enough to fit through the window. As she swung herself to the ground below, she heard the door open, and Avery's voice. "I'm afraid Evelyn isn't here right now. Can I help you?"

Evelyn didn't hear the rest of the conversation. She took off running. Or, at least, that was what she was trying to do when something clamped around her leg. Something hard and cold. Evelyn gave a yelp and instinctively compressed a little more, hoping to wriggle out of the Sentinel's grasp. But it simply closed its fist tighter around her leg as it lifted her into the air.

" _There_ you are, Miss Hong," came a voice from below. "It seems your friend wasn't being entirely truthful."

"Screw you," Evelyn spat. "What do you want with me? Did my parents send you?"

The stranger shook his head. "Hardly. All they could tell me was that you'd been gone all night and they had no idea when you would be home. You're not an easy person to find, even in a town this size."

"Good. Why'd you want to find me, anyway?"

The Sentinel lowered her to the ground, and something clicked around her neck. Instantly, she could feel herself straighten out, growing back to full height. Evelyn's hand flew to the device around her neck. An inhibitor collar. This was more serious than she'd thought. "What do you want with me?" she repeated. "I'm not dangerous."

That much was certainly true. Sure, she and her friends had a tendency to get into trouble, but none of that had anything to do with her mutation. Well, _okay_ , sometimes she used her abilities to get them into places they wouldn't have had access to, but they hadn't done anything dangerous while they were there. Graffiti, drugs, maybe a little shoplifting. But they'd never _hurt_ anyone.

Well, they'd never hurt anyone that _much_.

The stranger shook his head. "Of course you're not." There was a hint of a smile on his face.

"Not yet."

* * *

 **Rick Clifton, 19  
** **Maize, KS**

 **16:03 CST**

He couldn't remember the last time he'd picked up.

Rick glanced at his phone as it buzzed again. It was the second time his father had called today. For a while after Rick had moved out, he would call several times a day. Then a few times a week. Now, it was maybe once or twice a month, usually on the weekends. Maybe he was finally taking the hint.

He could always block the number, of course. But there was something that was almost satisfying about hearing that buzz and _not_ answering. Making the choice not to pick up the phone, not to listen to the tirade that was certain to follow if he ever did press that button. It had been almost a year now since he'd spoken with his father, but he could still hear the rage in his voice. The disgust. The contempt.

It hadn't always been that way. They'd been close once – him, his mother, and his father. Then, one day, his mother was just gone. He'd only been seven at the time; he hadn't understood why. He _still_ didn't know where his mother had gone. All he'd been able to get out of his father was that she was never coming home.

That was when everything had gone wrong. The yelling. The fighting. He'd lost track of the number of times they'd moved around Wichita and the nearby suburbs. Always a new apartment, a new school, a new life. It was as if his father had wanted to get away from something. But if he'd _really_ wanted to get away, they could have moved to another city. Another state, even.

He'd thought about that – leaving entirely. There wasn't much for him in Kansas. He'd graduated high school almost a year ago, and he was still here, working shifts at the bowling alley and the gas station to pay the rent, trying to save up a little for … what? College? He'd thought about it, just like he'd thought about packing up and leaving Kansas. But he'd never quite gone through with it. Maybe once he saved up a little more, once he was sure he'd be able to make it, and wouldn't have to come crawling back here looking for help.

Because _that_ was the one thing he certainly didn't want to do. Maybe he hadn't struck it rich, but he was surviving on his own. And he was doing it without any help from his father. He wasn't going to let that go. Whatever he was going to do, he could do it himself.

"Rick!" one of his coworkers called from up front. "Lane three's stuck again!"

"I told you not to put anyone on lane three!" Rick called back, tucking his phone back in his pocket. "That one always sticks. Once they're done with this game, just move them over to lane four." It wasn't as if they were _busy_. It was four in the afternoon on a _Sunday_. Sure, it was a rainy Sunday, so there wasn't a whole lot to do outside, but there were still plenty of other ways for people to spend their day.

It didn't take him long to get everything unstuck. Sure enough, there were only two lanes in use, and of _course_ Jake had put one of the families on lane three. Rick sighed as he made his way back to the counter. Next time, he would just do it himself; Jake was just learning the ropes, after all.

Just as he made his way back to the counter, however, the door opened, and a man in a suit entered. "What size shoes?" Rick asked automatically.

The man raised an eyebrow. "Eight and a half, if you must know. But I'm not here for a game."

"If you're here for a pizza, it'll be a bit of a wait." Most people liked to call in beforehand, but there was always that one person who would order a pizza and then sit there for fifteen minutes, just waiting for it. People who had nothing better to do with their day than sit around waiting for crispy, paper-thin pizza that they could probably buy frozen in a store and just bake themselves for half the price.

"I'll have to pass on the pizza, as well. I'm on a bit of a schedule."

Rick turned that over in his head for a moment. "You _do_ know this is a bowling alley, right?" It was right there on the sign.

"Yes."

Okay. "So … What can I help you with, then?"

"Actually, I'm looking for you."

"For me?"

"You are Rick Clifton, yes?"

"Yes." His phone was buzzing again. Did his father really want to talk to him _that_ badly? Could he have sent someone to find him? But why not simply come himself, if he wanted to talk?

"I need you to come with me."

"Why?"

"Because of your mutation."

Rick saw Jake take a step back. There it was. He'd always known something was different, and he'd suspected for a while, but he'd never been certain – not _totally_ certain. Weather was unpredictable, after all. Sometimes snow days happened when he'd hoped for them, but who was to say they wouldn't have happened anyway? Sure, there had been that time last year when a few tornadoes had touched down near his father's house. But this was _Kansas_. Tornadoes weren't exactly an oddity, especially in May.

And every time he'd tried to make something out of the ordinary happen, it hadn't worked. He couldn't create clouds out of nowhere. He couldn't make a storm die down into nothing. So he'd tried to dismiss it, to ignore it, to pretend that it must be a coincidence.

But the man in front of him sounded so certain. And the rain outside _did_ seem to be growing a little louder. "What is it you want?" Rick asked.

"Like I said, I need you to come with me. And if you could put this on before that rain gets any worse…" He held out a thin plastic collar.

Rick took a step back. "I'm not going anywhere with you." The two families who had been bowling were watching him now. Jake was beginning to step away. Thunder rumbled in the distance. His phone was buzzing again. Was this what his father had been trying to warn him about?

Maybe he should have picked up sooner.

The stranger took a step closer. "Let's not cause a scene, Rick. For everyone's sake."

Rick's gaze flew to the emergency exit. He could try to run. But there was probably someone watching that exit. The only other way out was through the front doors. Now that he was looking for it, he could see the Sentinel standing outside, getting pummeled by the rain, which was quickly turning to hail. _Shit_. Calm down. He had to calm down.

Rick turned to Jake. "Call Mitch. Tell him to come cover my shift if he can."

"I … I think I can handle it myself."

Rick rolled his eyes as he took the collar. "Call Mitch. He knows what he's doing. And move that group off lane three so you don't have to run out there every other frame." The collar clicked shut around his neck.

The stranger glanced outside as if he'd expected the storm to subside immediately. He pressed a button on some sort of remote. "Francine promised they were all working," he mumbled.

Rick shook his head as he followed the stranger outside. Sure enough, there was a Sentinel at the other entrance. The man was still fiddling with his remote as they climbed into a car. The collar was probably working just fine. But a storm this big wasn't just going to _stop_ once it got going. That wasn't how weather worked.

That wasn't how _anything_ worked.

* * *

 **Secretary Nicholas Wright, 64  
** **Airport in Maize, KS**

 **17:49 CST**

He would have to remember this for next time.

Nicholas sighed as he slid into a seat beside their pilot. "Are you sure we can't take off now?" he ventured. "The storm's cleared up a bit."

The pilot shook her head. "Sorry, sir. We'll have to wait a bit longer if you want to be sure we'll get off the ground safely. That's one hell of a storm out there."

"It didn't look that bad earlier."

The pilot shrugged. "Weather's funny like that sometimes. It's best just to wait it out. But don't worry, sir; I'll still be able to get you to Calpet tonight."

"Not so loud," Nicholas muttered, irritated. The mutants were safely locked in the back of the plane, but they were probably listening. Not that they'd be able to hear much over the storm, of course. And not that any of them would be able to do anything even if they knew where they were headed. He'd be surprised if any of them knew where Calpet _was_. Hell, _he_ hadn't known where it was until they'd chosen it as their base for the pre-Games training.

Just as he was about to suggest that maybe driving would be faster, his phone rang. Alvin. Of _course_ it would be Alvin who was having difficulties. Nicholas let it ring a few more times for good measure and then picked up. "Having trouble?"

"What?" Alvin sounded genuinely surprised at the question.

"Are you calling because you're having trouble?"

"No. Well, yes. Not _trouble_ , exactly. One of them ran away."

Nicholas closed his eyes impatiently. "Let me guess – the one with enhanced speed."

"Manaka, yes."

"So find him."

"I'm planning to. It's just … are you certain we're right about his mutation?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you sure it's just enhanced speed?"

"What else would it be?"

"I think…" There was an uneasy pause. He could practically hear Alvin fiddling with the phone, trying to avoid saying whatever it was he was about to say. Finally, though, it came out. "I think he might be another chronokinetic."

Nicholas let that sink in. "What makes you think that?"

"Just a hunch."

Nicholas shook his head. Even over the phone, Alvin had no poker face. "You don't do hunches. Something tipped you off. What was it?"

"Were you ever around Piper when she used her power?"

"Can't say I was."

"Well, I was. Happened to get close one time, and there was this … feeling. Something in the pit of your stomach, like things were just a little bit off. Like when you stand up too fast and everything's all blurry, just for a moment. Like that … sort of. It's hard to describe."

"Get to the point."

"Well, like I said, he ran right by me. And for just a moment, there was that feeling again – just a little. Not enough to be sure, but … I don't know. I think we may be in over our heads here, Nicholas."

"That's what you said about the two weather manipulators."

"And I stand by that. From the sound of that storm, I'd say things aren't going exactly as you planned, either."

 _Damn_. He was hoping Alvin wouldn't be able to hear the rain. He just couldn't help rubbing it in. But that only meant they would have to be careful. "What's your point, Alvin?"

"We already have one chronokinetic … sort of. I mean, from what we can tell, all Marcus can do is slow time. Which is a very _specific_ type of time manipulation. That we can handle, but this … I don't know, Nicholas."

"Find him, Alvin. Get him here. We'll deal with it."

For a moment, there was silence. "Okay. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"Fair enough. This one's on me if it goes wrong."

"When."

"Pardon?"

" _When_ it goes wrong. I guarantee it. And Nicholas?"

"Yes?"

"This one _is_ just a hunch, but … well, if we were wrong about one of our contestants … There were two who we picked because of their enhanced speed. If we were wrong about Manaka, then maybe you should double-check yours."

"Mine?"

"Yeah. The twelve-year-old you just picked up. What was his name? Kenzo? Kenny?"

"Kenji."

"Right. Maybe double-check just to make sure his power is what we think it is."

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

Alvin chuckled. "Well, you could start by asking him."

Nicholas sighed. "Anything _else_?"

"No, I'm good. Just a bit tired. And I've still got one more stop after I find this kid." He sighed. "Sure you don't just want me to let him go?"

"Alvin."

"All right, all right. I'll get him. See you later, Nicholas."

Nicholas shook his head as he hung up. Okay. Okay, they could still handle this. Even if Alvin was right, it certainly wasn't more than they could deal with. Last year, they'd dealt with an exploding island, after all. Once they got where they were going, it wouldn't matter if there was a storm, or if more than one of their contestants could manipulate time. It was still manageable.

"I think we're good, sir," the pilot decided at last. "This would probably be a good time to tell the others to buckle in."

Nicholas nodded and headed for the back of the plane, just as his phone began to ring again. Nicholas glanced at the number. Judah this time. Now _that_ was odd. He'd assigned Judah some of the mutants they'd anticipated being more difficult, but it was nothing he wouldn't be able to handle. Still, might as well be sure…

"Everything all right, Judah?" he asked, trying not to sound concerned.

"Perfectly all right. A little better than expected, which is why I called. Figured I'd better run this by you first. I've got an extra mutant here who wants to join our little party."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. Sometimes he couldn't tell if Judah was kidding or not. "It never rains but it pours," he muttered.

"What's that?"

"Nothing." Nicholas settled back into his seat and simply pressed the 'fasten seat belts' sign, hoping the mutants in the back would take a hint. "I think you'd better fill me in."

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

" _When all your scheming's done, what will be your legacy?"_


	6. Monsters

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Thank you to _Axe Smelling God_ , _BamItsTyler_ , _dyloccupy_ , _IVolunteerAsAuthor_ , and _symphorophilia_ for Emery, Florence, Seb, Savannah, and Vi, respectively.

Also, Happy Pi Day! I'd normally be in school enjoying some pie with my students, but this is our _sixth_ snow day of the year. So ... virtual pie for all of you!

* * *

 **Monsters**

* * *

 **Colonel Judah Burgess, 52  
** **March 15th, 05:30 EST**

They were just a different kind of monsters.

Judah stretched his arms as he climbed out of the plane. It was still dark outside, but somehow that seemed fitting. He'd wanted to get an early start, anyway. The sooner he and the others got back to Calpet, the sooner they could make sure everything was running smoothly there. Besides, he would have one of the longer flights back, considering the locations of the mutants he'd been assigned.

He would have made the same call, though. He had the experience that the others lacked. The closest any of the others came to combat experience was Anita, who was minding things back in Wyoming while they were gone. While she was an experienced combat medic and cool under pressure, she was a doctor, not a soldier. Even Nicholas, for all his skill and intelligence, was a scientist first. He was always thinking in terms of the big picture, which was all well and good if what you wanted was a plan, a neat set of instructions developed in a calculating manner.

But when people wanted someone who would have the nerve to _follow_ those instructions, they needed a soldier. When they needed someone to take on a monster, they needed a fighter. And these _were_ monsters; he was certain of that. He'd been skeptical, at first, when he'd seen the reports on some of their powers. They seemed like creatures out of legend.

Maybe there was some truth to those legends. Vampires and werewolves, witches and wizards. Maybe they had been mutants all along, and the scientific explanation had just taken a bit longer to make its way to the surface. But the danger that such creatures posed remained the same, no matter what they were called.

They would always be monsters.

And ordinary people, innocent people, innocent _humans_ – they would always need someone to protect them from the monsters. That was his job. By the end of today, there would be four fewer monsters on the streets, threatening the lives of everyone around them.

Judah glanced around as he made his way down the streets of Springfield. Not many people were awake yet, and those who were paid little attention to him or the Sentinels who were following him. They didn't care. Whatever he was up to, it wasn't their problem.

People like him were the _reason_ it wasn't their problem. People like him were the reason they were safe. People who were willing to do what had to be done – like him and the rest of the MAAB – were the reason the rest of the country could go on with their lives despite the danger. It was a thankless job, but someone had to do it.

Judah turned a corner, and he could finally see the orphanage in the distance, at the end of a dimly lit street. He shook his head. Where else would it be? The lights were off, the children still asleep. Well, maybe not the one he was after. That would be best – if he could simply take her without disturbing any of the other children. Hell, they would probably thank him if they knew what sort of monster he was saving them from.

Judah shook the thought from his head. No, they wouldn't thank him. People rarely did. But that wasn't why he had signed on for this job. He was here to protect people, to keep them safe.

Even if they didn't realize it.

* * *

 **Emery Mullins, 15  
** **Springfield, VA**

 **05:43 EST**

She wasn't the real monster.

Emery closed her eyes for a moment, lying on her back in the grass. No one had noticed her sneaking out into the yard, and it would be hours before anyone else was awake. It was always a bit too stuffy inside, and she'd wanted to see the stars. Well, as much of the stars as she could see with the city lights. Still, it was better than what she'd had before. Better than scavenging in the woods or trying to survive on garbage. And it was certainly better than when she and her brother Hunter had lived with their parents.

It had taken her years to realize that it hadn't been her fault. The beatings, the burning, the screams when she or her brother did the slightest thing wrong. Their father, a local preacher, had kept the two of them isolated, insisting on perfection. A perfection no one could have achieved. Finally, she had realized it had nothing to do with them. No one could have met his demands. No one could have made him happy.

One night, when the beatings had gotten particularly fierce, something inside her had snapped. Something she later realized had been her mutation. When her father had turned his attention to Hunter, she had lunged, her wolf form half-emerging as she bit her father's arm. It had only lasted a moment that time, but that had been enough to enrage their father. He'd beaten her senseless and left the two of them in the woods to starve.

Except they _hadn't_ starved. Between the animals she'd learned to kill in her wolf form and the garbage they'd found, they'd managed to survive until the police found them. Since their parents couldn't be found, the officers had brought them to the orphanage. And maybe life here wasn't perfect, but it was certainly better. She and Hunter could tough it out until they were old enough to make it on their own.

For the most part, they kept to themselves. The others had no idea that she was a mutant, and she intended to keep it that way. It was their little secret, and Hunter was good at keeping secrets. He'd learned to keep his mouth shut early on, thinking it would protect him from their parents, and it was a habit that he'd never really been able to shake, even now that they were safe.

Safe. Emery couldn't help a little chuckle as she opened her eyes. It was strange to think of an orphanage as a place she and Hunter could consider safe, but it was probably the best place they'd been. The people who were supposed to protect them – their parents – had done the exact opposite. _They_ were the real monsters, no matter what people thought of mutants like her. People who turned on their children because of who they were – _they_ were the problem.

A problem she didn't have to deal with anymore.

Suddenly, she heard something – something in the distance. Even in human form, her hearing was better than most. She rolled over a little, pressing an ear to the ground. Footsteps. There were definitely footsteps, and heavy ones at that. And, even worse, they didn't sound human. That could only mean one thing.

"Shit," Emery muttered under her breath as the Sentinels appeared in the distance, their eyes glowing bright red in the night. She could feel the fur starting to prickle through her skin before she even had a chance to think. They were here for her; there was no doubt about that. None of the others were mutants. Or at least, she was pretty sure they weren't. How would she know? It wasn't as if she went around telling people _she_ was a mutant, so why should she expect anyone else to do the same?

Emery shook herself free from the tangle of her nightclothes as her wolf form emerged. If they _were_ here for her, she could run. In her wolf form, she could probably make it pretty far. Maybe they hadn't even seen her yet. But that would mean leaving Hunter, who was still safely asleep inside. If the Sentinels didn't realize she had left, if they went looking through the school, they might hurt him. They might hurt the rest of the children if they believed she was still hiding somewhere.

No, there was no point in hiding. Now fully in wolf form, Emery gave a loud howl and took off towards the Sentinels. If she could make it past them back into the city streets, she might be able to lose them in the alleyways somewhere. If not … well, if they caught her, at least no one else would be hurt. _Hunter_ wouldn't be hurt.

Her legs pumped furiously as she charged into the night. She could see the first Sentinel clearly now, and the one after that. How many of them were there? It didn't matter. The first one was already reaching down to grab her. She lunged out of the way and kept running, her senses exploding with the smells and sounds of the city streets. Even this early in the morning, there were plenty of distractions.

 _Focus._ The wolf's mind was hard to control sometimes. Sometimes, it was better not to try. The wolf's instincts were quicker, its thought processes much simpler. _Run._ That was all she had to do right now.

Suddenly, a metal hand reached down behind her and clamped around one of her hind legs. Emery let out a howl, her jaws finding only metal as she struggled to free herself. It was no use. The Sentinel held her tightly, lifting her off the ground. She could see a man standing near the Sentinel, reaching towards her, holding something plastic. Some sort of collar.

Emery growled, her teeth closing around his arm. But instead of flesh, her jaws closed around something thick and hard. Some sort of thick protective armor. The man chuckled. "Yes, we took a few more precautions this year. Had a little incident last year with another dog who liked to bite." He slipped the collar around Emery's neck and pushed a button.

Instantly, Emery could feel the wolf slipping away as her body started to shift back to human form. The Sentinel lowered her to the ground, where she lay for a moment, shaking, before the man draped a blanket over her. She'd figured out how to emerge from wolf form wearing skintight clothes, but anything else simply fell away when she changed.

Emery staggered to her feet, the blanket draped around her shoulders. "What do you want?" she asked, glaring at the man in front of her. No point in running now, so she might as well find out what she was up against.

"You, Emery. We want you. And I do appreciate you making it easier on the others at the orphanage. Your howling probably woke one or two of them, but not nearly as many as a few Sentinels storming the building would have."

Emery clenched her fists. "So they're safe."

The stranger nodded. "Perfectly safe. From me, and from _you_."

"I wouldn't have hurt them."

The man shrugged. "I'm sure you believe that. But it was only a matter of time. Now they're safe, and you…" He shook his head.

"At least you can put that wolf of yours to good use."

* * *

 **Florence Roos, 114  
** **Tonawanda, NY**

 **07:37 EST**

The monsters were coming.

Florence gave Ethel's hand a squeeze as the two of them stood outside, waiting for the sunrise. Waiting for what was coming. Ethel had seen it in a vision – a man approaching, leading an army of giants – and Ethel's visions had never been wrong before. Her childhood friend came from a long line of mutants with the gift of foresight, just as Florence had inherited her powers from her own father.

That had been a long time ago, of course. Her own parents were long gone, killed in a blaze when their house was set on fire by people who didn't understand. People who were afraid. All that remained of them was an amulet, tucked safely around Florence's neck. Ethel's parents had taken her in, raised her, helped her come to terms with her gifts. She and Ethel had grown up alongside each other.

While Ethel had aged like any other human, however, Florence's own mutation slowed her aging. A year for every decade or so – that was what the professor had said. It had been Ethel's advice that had led her to his school a few decades ago. She had enjoyed her time there, but…

But then the more unstable parts of her power had started to emerge. It had all been good fun before that. Enhanced speed and agility, hypnosis, and even shapeshifting. It was at the school that she'd finally mastered her ability to shapeshift into a bat.

Then the hunger had emerged. A deep, insatiable lust for blood. The professor had tried to help her control it, but it had been too strong. After nearly killing one of her classmates, she had fled into the night, leaving the school behind. It was better that way – better for all of them. She hadn't wanted to hurt them.

She couldn't avoid hurting people entirely, of course. But she could ensure that her victims were people she didn't know. People who wouldn't be missed. She had spent years drifting from place to place, avoiding detection, killing when she couldn't stand the thirst any longer. She had never _wanted_ to kill. She didn't want to be the monster that the humans surely thought she was. But every time she tried to hold back, the hunger only grew stronger. More intense. Eventually, she gave in.

She always gave in.

A little over a year ago, she had found her way back to the school, hoping that maybe the professor would be able to help her. But she'd returned to find the school burning, the Sentinels surrounding it. She had fled before they could notice her, and, in her desperation, had come back to Ethel. They had drifted apart over the years, but Ethel had taken her in. She understood. Ethel had always been kind to her.

And now she had a chance to return the favor. Ethel had warned her that someone was coming. Someone dangerous. Leading an army of giants. Probably Sentinels. If they were coming for her, there was no way to fight without putting Ethel's life in danger – as well as the lives of her family. She didn't have a choice.

No, that wasn't quite right. There was _always_ a choice. What she had was a chance to make the right choice. The choice that would save the life of her friend. The Sentinels were going to take her, no matter what she did. It was just a matter of whether she was going to put up a fight first, and how many people might be killed in the process.

Ethel squeezed Florence's hand gently. "You don't have to do this."

No. No, she didn't have to. But she wanted to. And she was going to. "I know," Florence whispered as the first rays of light began to creep over the houses. She could see them in the distance now – giant shapes looming towards her. Florence wrapped her arms around Ethel. "It's all right," Florence whispered, holding her old friend close. "I'll be fine."

It was probably a lie. If the Sentinels had caught up with her, it probably meant that they had figured out who was behind the killings. There had been stories of mutants – ones who had committed crimes, at least – who had simply disappeared without a trace. What had happened to them? What was going to happen to _her_? Yes, she had killed those people, but it wasn't her fault. Not really. She'd just been _hungry_.

Ethel squeezed Florence tightly, as if she might never let go. When she finally did, however, Florence turned to see a man approaching them, flanked by nearly a dozen Sentinels. _Okay._ This was it. She took a few steps towards the man, holding up her hands. Hoping that would be enough to signal her intentions – that she wasn't looking for a fight.

The man raised an eyebrow. Clearly, this wasn't the greeting he'd been expecting. "Florence Roos?"

Florence nodded. "Yes." Her voice was shakier than she would have liked, but she cleared her throat and tried again. "Yes. I'm Florence Roos."

"Colonel Judah Burgess," the man replied, taking a few steps closer, the Sentinels still close behind. "Come with us peacefully, and there won't be any trouble." His eye was on Ethel, still standing close behind Florence. Maybe the sight of an old lady nearby had given him pause. Whatever he was here for, it wouldn't look good if there were civilian casualties.

Florence took a deep breath, giving Ethel one last nervous smile as she took a few more steps towards Judah, the sidewalk cold against her bare feet. "What's the catch?" she asked shakily.

"The catch?"

"You're not just going to take my word that I'm not going to cause any trouble, are you?" Surely he was smarter than that.

Judah chuckled a little, producing something from inside one of his pockets. A plastic collar. He held it out to her. "Put this on."

"What does it do?"

"It's an inhibitor collar. It blocks your powers if it's turned on."

Interesting. She took the collar and examined it. "Why plastic?" Surely there had to be stronger materials they could have built it out of.

Judah shook his head. "It's not plastic, exactly. Just looks like it. At least, that's what our expert tells me. It's more flexible than metal, which is a useful if you want to, say, adjust it to change shape. For example, if you wanted it to fit snugly around someone's neck even if they shrank to the size of a bat or if they suddenly sprouted fur and turned into a wolf."

"A wolf?"

Judah chuckled. "It's been an interesting morning. So far, though, I'd say it's gone pretty smoothly." He shook his head as Florence slid the collar on.

"I might be the first one back yet."

* * *

 **Seb Krause, 16  
** **Charlotte, NC**

 **10:42 EST**

They didn't have to be monsters.

Seb shook his head as his gaze strayed to the television in the corner. The news was on, as it usually was in his family's furniture store. They liked to stay up-to-date on current events, especially now that much of the news concerned the government's actions regarding mutants. Anything they decided, after all, was likely to affect both him and his uncle. They could try to ignore it, of course; some people did. But it was better to know what was going on. That way, they could be prepared.

Sometimes, though, it was just so frustrating. The mutants who ended up on the news were always the ones who had used their powers to do something dangerous. Right now, the images were those of an earthquake that had occurred the week before – an earthquake that many believed had been caused by a mutant. There was no way to know, really, whether or not that was true. But ever since last year, when a young mutant had destroyed an entire island up in Alaska, it was tempting to blame any disaster on some sort of mutant, rather than assuming it was a natural event.

Seb sighed. If it _was_ a mutant, they certainly weren't helping. The government certainly wasn't going to relax its stance on mutants if they kept making scenes like this. This was the sort of thing that kept the whole problem from simply blowing over, from running its course through the news and then disappearing. If he could learn to control his power, then surely other mutants could do the same.

He'd only been five years old, after all, when his power had first appeared. He had been learning to write along with his classmates, and had written the word "fire." To everyone's astonishment, a fire had appeared out of nowhere in the classroom. The teachers had managed to evacuate everyone in time, but a large part of the school had been destroyed.

But that had been an accident. Ever since then, he'd been careful. He took precautions. Most of the time, he simply used a computer to type his notes and assignments. On the rare occasions when he _did_ use his power, he was careful not to make anything dangerous appear. A candy bar if he wanted a snack. A pair of clean socks if he'd forgotten to bring a change of clothes for gym class. Nothing that would hurt anyone.

It didn't stop the other students from teasing him, but he'd gotten used to that. The incident in kindergarten had been all over the news at the time, so they all knew. When the Mutant Registration Act had been passed, he had been one of the first mutants in the county to register. Everyone knew, anyway, so there was no reason to pretend otherwise.

Since then, he'd done everything right. He'd kept his registration up-to-date. He hadn't hurt anyone. He'd kept a low profile and, for the most part, things had worked out. Sure, the other kids avoided him at school, but that was just how teenagers were, wasn't it? If they weren't singling him out because of his mutation, it would be because of something else.

There was always something.

That was what most people didn't seem to understand. Mutations were just one more thing that made some people different. And as long as they weren't using their power to hurt anyone, there was no reason to treat them any differently.

As long as they weren't using their power to hurt anyone. That was the problem, really. A few mutants who couldn't – or wouldn't – control their powers were making everything more difficult for the rest of them. How were they supposed to convince the government that mutants weren't dangerous when a few of them were running around blowing up islands or leveling towns? How was any group supposed to recover from _that_ sort of negative publicity? Maybe if they could just stop _being_ a threat for a while, the government would stop treating them like one.

"You know what they really need?"

Seb looked up, startled. He hadn't realized his uncle Niklas had been watching him. "Who?"

"Those folks on the television. What they _really_ need to do is set up a system to deal with this sort of thing. And I mean _actually_ deal with it, not just complain about it afterwards. A group of mutants who will respond to this sort of thing. Like firefighters or policemen, except they wouldn't have to wait around with hoses. They could just summon a blast of water and boom! Fire's gone. Or if you've got a mutant running around causing earthquakes, you get another one who can _calm_ those earthquakes. Let mutants help deal with the problems other mutants are causing, you know?"

Seb smiled. His uncle had all sorts of crazy ideas. "And who's going to convince the government to go along with that one? You?"

"Don't tempt me," Niklas chuckled, turning the television off. "If I had the chance, I bet I could talk some of them into seeing it my way."

Seb shook his head. His uncle's charmspeak made him an excellent salesman, but would even he be able to handle a room full of politicians?

Before he could voice any doubts, however, his parents burst through the door. "Seb! Niklas! They're coming. You have to hide."

"Whoa, easy, calm down," Niklas insisted, his voice instantly relaxing them. " _Who's_ coming?"

"Sentinels – _lots_ of them," his mother answered. Seb tensed. That was bad. One or two Sentinels wasn't an unusual sight, but when there were a lot of them, it meant they were prepared for a fight.

Even Niklas seemed to realize just how serious the situation was. "Hurry. Out the back door." He gave Seb a nudge in the right direction. "I'll hold them off."

"But they're ro—" was all Seb managed to get out before the first of the robots came crashing through the door, sending splinters flying everywhere.

Seb ducked behind the counter, but his uncle stepped calmly towards the robot. "You can turn around and go back now. There's nothing you want here." Seb could feel the urgency in his words, coursing through the shop, willing the robot to go back the way it had come.

It would have worked on a human.

Instead, the Sentinel's hand came down, swatting Niklas out of the way as easily as if was a rag doll. He almost _looked_ like a doll, the way his body crumpled against the wall of the shop. Distantly, as if in a dream, he heard his mother's scream. Saw his father rush to his uncle's side. He could see the blood. But it was all out of focus, as if it were happening to someone else, and he was just watching. Watching as the Sentinel reached for him, its hand closing around him as if he too was just a child's plaything.

Then he blacked out.

* * *

 **Savannah Kingston, 19  
** **Boston, MA**

 **12:55 EST**

People always enjoyed the ones with monsters.

Savannah smiled as she handed two tickets to the boys in front of her. The oldest couldn't be more than ten, and here they were, on their own, off to see a movie about some giant animal destroying a town. Or something of that sort. She'd lost track track around the third or fourth movie in the series. "Buttered or no?" she asked, scooping out some popcorn.

"Yeah," one of the boys answered, glancing at his phone. There were still five minutes until the movie started, and that wasn't even counting the previews. A line still stretched halfway out the door. Apparently, quite a few people had decided a movie was a good way to spend a chilly Sunday afternoon. This wasn't technically her shift, but she'd owed Daniel a favor. Besides, weekend shifts paid better anyway, and she would still be done in time to have dinner with her dad.

He made her promise that every weekend, even though she still lived with him. Between working shifts at the theater and taking night classes, she didn't always have time to sit down for a meal during the week – not at the same time as him, at least. But weekends … Well, it was always easier to find a little time on the weekends.

Her phone buzzed a little in her pocket as the line slowly dwindled. Probably her dad, wanting to check in on her again. Sometimes he worried a _bit_ too much, but it was hard to blame him for that. Ever since her mom died, it had just been the two of them. And it hadn't helped that her power had started to complicate things.

She had been in school when she'd gotten called down to the office. Part of her had known it might be coming, that her mother's cancer was getting worse, that it was only a matter of time. But it had still hurt to hear the words. The principal had left her alone in the office for a moment to collect herself.

She remembered feeling a tingling in her hands. A tingling that had spread through her whole body, shooting out in waves. She remembered a blue light, but she hadn't realized at the time that the light had been coming from her. Her dad had arrived to find her curled up in a ball on the floor, and the room on fire. Officially, the fire had been blamed on a faulty plug somewhere, but it hadn't taken her long to piece together the truth.

Every so often, the feeling would come back. Sometimes when she was sad, or angry, or just frustrated. At first, she hadn't even wanted to leave the house, for fear that she might hurt someone. But she couldn't stay locked up in her house forever, and just being outside and _doing_ something again had helped a bit. It was easier to stay busy out here, and the busier she was, the less likely she was to get angry. That was her best theory, anyway, and for the most part, it seemed to be working.

Finally, the last person in line made her way through, and Savannah glanced down at her phone. Sure enough, it was her dad. _Five_ messages from her dad, all asking the same thing. _How are you?_

Savannah smiled, typing back quickly. _Good. Still on for dinner tonight?_

The reply was immediate. _Of course. Love you._

 _Love you, too_. She tucked her phone back in her pocket as she saw someone coming through the door. Savannah froze. Not some _one_. Some _thing_. And, to make it worse, there _was_ no more door. The Sentinel stepped closer as it was joined by a man in some sort of uniform. "Savannah Kingston?"

Savannah tensed. She could feel the tingling starting to grow in her hands. _Not here_. The last thing she needed was to lose control in front of a Sentinel. But how long could she hold it together? "Yes. How can I help you?"

"You need to come with us. It would probably be best if we got away from—"

That was all he had time to say. A bolt of lightning shot out of her hand and into the floor, sending sparks flying in every direction. Screaming, she raced for the door. To her surprise, she made it there before the Sentinel did. Or maybe that was the point. Maybe they wanted her outside so that she wouldn't hurt anyone.

Another bolt of lighting. And then another. People were watching now. Running. Maybe they were just as afraid as she was. She could feel her hair standing on end as electricity shot up into the sky. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Sentinels. A bolt of lighting struck one of them, but the robot didn't even slow down. The man in the uniform, now perched atop the Sentinel's shoulder, was smiling a little.

Something shot out of the robot's hand. Some sort of dart. A tranquilizer? Maybe, she realized as it struck her in the neck. Savannah crumpled to her knees, lightning still flashing. She could hear screaming, but she couldn't tell if it was coming from the people around her or from her own throat.

Everything was getting fuzzy. As she slumped to the ground, she could see a pair of hands reaching towards her. Hands covered in rubber gloves. _Smart_. Something snapped around her neck. There was a sudden jolt, and immediately the lightning stopped. Even the tingling in her hands was gone.

Savannah looked down at her hands. "What … what did you do?" Her voice didn't sound quite right. Maybe that was the tranquilizer.

"Oh, don't worry. It's only temporary," the stranger assured her. "The collar blocks your power, and the tranquilizer will knock you out for a little while, but you'll be fine."

"Why…?" It didn't make any sense. He'd obviously known what he was up against. He'd had the sense to wear rubber clothes and had brought an entire army of Sentinels. Why hadn't he just walked into the theater, shot a dart in her from behind, and carried on without a fuss?

That was what she _wanted_ to ask, but her tongue couldn't form the right words. The stranger knelt down at her side, smiling a little, as if he understood the question anyway. "Because sometimes it's good to show people what mutants like you are really capable of." He nodded at the crowd that was gathering.

"Sometimes they need to be reminded who the monsters are."

* * *

 **Vi Voclain, 18  
** **Boston, MA**

 **13:23 EST**

"Sometimes they need to be reminded who the monsters are."

Vi stood watching along with the rest of the crowd as the girl finally passed out, the collar still fastened around her neck. She had been shooting lightning everywhere, but everything had stopped as soon as the man had put the collar on. Apparently, it did something to block her power. And if it could block _hers_ , then maybe…

Vi took a deep breath, trying to process the sensation fluttering around the pit of his stomach. Was it … was it _hope_? Was this what it felt like? No. No, that was silly. Hope was silly, and it was meant for silly people who went around with their head in the clouds, believing that everything would work out in the end. But nothing ever did.

Not for him, at least. Vi glanced around at the crowded street. Even just today, the sequence of events that had brought him here might have been ridiculous, if he hadn't been on the receiving end. The hospital had mixed up up his medication again. They must have, because he had found himself wandering out the door and down the street, looking for … something. He didn't know what.

He should have stayed away from the street. The reason he'd been in the hospital in the first place was because he'd been hit by a car after barely escaping from a murderer who had picked him up when he was trying to hitchhike away from town. The doctors hadn't believed that, of course, and one of them had taken it upon herself to assume that he was delusional, and prescribed the appropriate medication.

Or at least, the medication that _would_ have been appropriate if he actually _had_ been delusional. Instead, the reaction had nearly killed him, and when he'd started feeling the same way again today … maybe he had run. Maybe that was what had happened. Either way, he'd found himself stumbling through the streets. He'd noticed just in time that the wind had blown something out of his pocket – a picture of him and Alex. It was all he had left of the only friend he'd ever really had.

So he'd chased it for several blocks, until the wind had blown it into the luggage hold of a bus. He should have known better. He _really_ should have. But he'd bent down to reach inside, tripped, and stumbled into the luggage hold. Immediately, the door had slammed closed behind him.

Because of _course_ it had. That sort of thing happened all the time. At first, he'd thought that maybe he was cursed. It was one of the older kids in one of his many foster homes who had come up with a different idea very much by accident. After breaking Vi's nose, he'd remarked that now Vi looked like 'one of them muties on tv.' He hadn't meant it – probably – but the idea had stuck in Vi's head. Maybe he _was_ a mutant. Maybe all this bad luck was really just a mutation.

Not that it had mattered much one way or the other – not until now. After hours of bumps and bruises and jostling his broken arm, which was still healing from the car crash, the bus had finally come to a stop, and the door had opened. He'd rolled out onto the sidewalk and staggered down the street. But he hadn't gotten far before he'd seen what looked like lightning. _Blue_ lightning, shooting up into the sky and all around, all of it coming from a girl.

People were running away, but there was no point, really. If lightning was going to strike him, then it was going to strike him whether he ran or not. Instead, he'd watched as the man in the uniform had slipped a collar around the girl's neck, which apparently did something to her powers. Dampened them? Completely neutralized them?

And if a collar could stop _her_ powers – if it could stop someone strong enough to shoot lightning out of her body – then maybe, just _maybe_ , it could stop his.

Maybe.

"Hey!" Vi called after the man in the uniform, but he and the Sentinels were already heading in the opposite direction, one of the robots carrying the girl. Vi chased after them. He would probably have caught up quickly if he hadn't tripped twice. He was still dizzy from spending hours in a baggage hold. Still groggy from the medicine. He wasn't even sure where he _was_. He hadn't had time to ask where the bus was heading. But none of that mattered.

What mattered was that he had a chance.

He lost sight of the man in the uniform, but the Sentinels were easy to follow, even from several blocks behind. After maybe ten minutes, they came to a stop in a clearing. There was a large strip of bare land, almost like a … a runway. Yes, a runway, Vi realized as he spotted the plane. The man in the uniform was climbing into the plane, and the Sentinels had already taken off. The girl was probably already inside the plane. _Okay._ All he had to do was catch up. "Wait!" he called at the top of his lungs. "Wait!"

No one heard him. No wonder, since the propellers were already spinning. Vi raced towards the plane as fast as he could, banging on the side of the plane as soon as he reached it. No one heard him. Of _course_ no one heard him. That was just his luck.

Then he saw the door. A small door on the side of the plane. A cargo hold, maybe. No point in trying the door. It would be locked. It would _certainly_ be locked. But there was no _harm_ in trying, either. Vi put his hand to the handle and pulled.

It opened.

It actually _opened_.

Vi nearly burst out laughing as he climbed inside and pulled the door shut behind him, then fastened the bolt. He certainly didn't want it opening during the flight; that would be just his luck. The space was cramped, but it certainly wasn't any worse than the luggage hold on the bus. After a few moments, the plane started to move. Faster. Faster.

All he had to do was wait for the plane to land. And then … and then what? Someone would have to open the door at some point, wouldn't they? There _was_ some luggage in here. Not a lot, but enough that someone would miss it. Probably. Maybe.

Or maybe he would just starve. Or run out of air. But there seemed to be air coming from somewhere – enough that he wouldn't suffocate for a while, at least.

But he had no way of knowing how long it would be before the plane landed. Vi closed his eyes, trying not to breathe too deeply. He really hadn't thought this through. He hadn't had _time_ to. He just wanted…

What? He wasn't even entirely sure what it was he wanted, because he had no way of knowing what a _normal_ life felt like. What would it be like to not expect the worst at every turn, to be constantly dreading the next terrible thing that was going to happen? He had no way of knowing what that would be like.

But more than anything, he wanted to find out.

* * *

 **Judah Burgess, 52  
** **Calpet, WY**

 **16:42 MST**

They probably thought he was a monster.

Judah made his way to the back of the plane, bracing himself for a barrage of questions and protests and complaints from the passengers. But the worst part was over. Once the mutants were safely inside the base, they weren't his problem anymore. Not really. Explaining what was going on, training them, getting them ready for the Games – that was all the coaches' responsibility. All he had to do was make sure nothing got out of hand, and be ready to step in if it did.

Before he could open the door to let the mutants out, however, he heard something. Some sort of banging noise, coming from … the cargo hold? That didn't make any sense. Judah shook his head, unlocking the door. Maybe something had broken loose and was bumping around in there, but that wouldn't explain why it was still moving now that the plane had come to a stop. But the only other explanation was that there was something – or some _one_ – alive in there.

In one quick move, Judah flung the door wide open and stepped back. Immediately, a boy tumbled out, groaning softly as he hit the ground. His arm was in a sling, and the rest of him seemed to be quite bruised. Not surprising, considering he'd just spent more than five hours in the cramped cargo hold. And that was assuming he'd gotten on the plane at their last stop.

Slowly, the boy got to his feet. "Where are we?"

Judah shook his head. Better not to answer that one until he had some idea what was going on. "Who are you?"

"My name's Vi. Well, Viorel, but no one calls me that."

Judah raised an eyebrow. He doubted anyone called the boy much of anything. His clothes were tattered, and he was only wearing one shoe. His hair was a mess, but that could have been the result of the flight. "Care to explain what you were doing on my plane, Vi?"

"Do you have any more of those collars?"

Judah let that sink in for a moment. "These?" He held up one of the spare inhibitor collars Nicholas had given them in case something unexpected happened to one of the others.

The boy's eyes grew wide with something that almost seemed like hunger. "Yes. Can I … can I have one?" He paused for a moment, as if struggling with the next word. "Please?"

"You're a mutant?"

"Yes."

"And you _want_ one of these?"

"Yes."

"You realize they block your abilities, right?"

"That's why I _want_ one. I'm…" He hesitated. "I'm unlucky." Judah's doubt must have made its way to his face, because the boy continued. "Look, I know. I know it sounds silly, when you say it like that, but you have to believe me. Why would I be lying?"

He had a point. Whatever the boy's powers were, he was so desperate to get rid of them that he'd hitched a ride on a plane without any idea where it was going or what would happen once he got there. Judah turned the collar over in his hand. "I'll have to get it cleared first, but I'd like to offer you a deal, Vi. We're holding a little … competition here. If you'd care to join us, you can wear one of these for the duration. If you win, it's yours to keep – for good. But you're either in or you're out – right now." He held out the collar. "What do you say?"

Vi snatched the collar out of his hand and slid it around his neck. "Deal."

Judah nodded, pressed a button on the remote that controlled the collars, and pulled out his phone. "Then I have a call to make."

Nicholas picked up almost immediately. "Everything all right, Judah?" Nicholas sounded tired, and there was some sort of sound in the background. Rain, maybe – and definitely coming down hard.

"Perfectly all right," Judah assured him. "A little better than expected, which is why I called. Figured I'd better run this by you first." He glanced over at Vi, who was already looking a little more relaxed.

"I've got an extra mutant here who wants to join our little party."

* * *

" _If they think we're beasts and monsters … then perhaps we better live up to the name."_


	7. Solution

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games

 **Note:** Thank you to _JabbyAbby_ , _twistedservice_ , _DMonkey1607_ , and _Remus98_ for Lee, Elena, Frederick, and Sybil, respectively.

* * *

 **Solution**

* * *

 **Francine Temple, 43  
** **March 15th, 07:27 PST**

There had to be a better solution.

Francine rolled over and pressed the snooze button again, as if delaying her job a few more minutes would somehow make the whole thing disappear. It wouldn't, of course, but for right now, a few minutes of pretending was all she had. Pretending that there was something any of them could do to change what had been set in motion.

She had tried to stop it, right from the start. She hadn't been recruited for the MAAB because she'd wanted to solve the mutant 'problem.' She had just happened to be one of the leading experts on the Sentinels' technology. It was a new project, and that was all it had been, at first. A project. An experiment. She'd lost herself in the designs, the blueprints, the constant tweaking and adjusting here and there to make everything work right. It had almost been _fun_.

Maybe it was because she had been so wrapped up in her work that she hadn't realized, that she hadn't noticed when everything had started to go wrong. When the others had first suggested the idea of the Games, it had sounded almost like a sporting match. A way to display the mutants' powers. But the idea had grown, taken on a life of its own. The stakes of the Games had become higher and higher, and by the time the idea of a fight to the death had been proposed, it had seemed like a logical conclusion.

And the kids … She wasn't even sure now whose idea it had been to use kids. But that, too, had been irritatingly, inescapably logical. Younger, more inexperienced mutants were more likely to make mistakes, to let their powers get out of control. That was certainly what had happened last year. Hell, the youngest contestant had ended up being one of the survivors. And the other…

Francine shook the thought from her head. Their other survivor was gone. And if she had simply disappeared, that would have been one thing. Piper could have stayed under the radar, lived out the rest of her life in peace in whatever hiding place she'd found. Instead, she had been snatching potential contestants out from under their noses for months.

More frustratingly, she had help. Someone on the inside had been feeding her information. They _had_ to be. There was no other way she could have known about some of their candidates. She could see the future, yes, but only a minute or two in advance, and only in the area around her. Someone was helping her.

Francine rubbed her eyes as the alarm went off again. She wasn't sure which was more aggravating – the fact that she wasn't sure who was helping Piper, or the nagging feeling that it should have been her. _She_ was one of the people who had voted against the Games, after all. _She_ should be the one trying to stop them – or at least derail them a bit.

But it wasn't her. And it wasn't Alvin. At least, she was pretty sure it wasn't Alvin. Yes, he'd been the other vote against the Games, but this … this just didn't seem his style. He'd been too honest, too upfront about his reasons and his reservations to start being covert now. The coaches were the other obvious suspects, but what they didn't know – what Nicholas hadn't told them – was that two of the mutants Piper had snatched away hadn't even made it to the point where the coaches had _seen_ their files. It couldn't be them.

Or it couldn't _just_ be them.

Francine shook her head. It should have been _her_. Sabotage was right up her alley. And if it had been up to her, she would have asked Piper to save a few of the younger mutants. The less powerful ones. The ones who had no business being in a fight to the death in the first place.

But it wasn't her. She had no way to contact Piper, even if she wanted to. And no way of knowing which of her fellow board members to ask about the possibility. Whoever it was, why hadn't they come to her? She would have helped them.

And that was the problem. Aside from the coaches, she was the first person Nicholas would suspect. Whoever was helping Piper, they had probably decided they couldn't risk involving her. If she wanted to remain a part of the MAAB, she had to keep her hands clean.

Right. _Clean_.

She had thought about leaving, after last year's Games. Now that they had a handle on the technology, after all, they didn't really _need_ her. She could have walked away. Gone back to her life and tried to move on.

But she hadn't. Nicholas had asked her to stay on at least a little longer in case there were unexpected difficulties this year. Alvin had practically begged her not to leave him as the sole 'voice of reason' as he had put it. But ultimately, the deciding factor had been her own guilt.

She kept trying to tell herself she had no reason to feel guilty. She had voted against the Games. She had done her best to make her voice heard. She had failed. But she'd had her chance to quit, to storm off in disgust, to resign in protest. She hadn't done any of those things – hadn't even _thought_ about doing them until after the Games were in motion.

Now … Now she had to make it right. She had to stay. She had to fix it. She had played a part, however reluctantly, in starting these Games. Now she would have to find a way to stop them.

However long it took.

* * *

 **Caihong Li, 25  
** **Bend, OR**

 **08:16 PST**

Eventually, he would find a better solution.

Lee nodded crisply as his brothers, Shui and Chao, made their way towards the three of them who were already seated outside the small cafe. Beside him, Olivia was still yawning, and Marcus was rubbing the sleep from his eyes even as he glanced around anxiously. But Lee had always been a morning person, and his brothers … well, they were probably just happy for the chance to see him.

He did his best to let them know when he was in town, of course – but it was getting harder to do it without their father finding out. It was getting harder to go _anywhere_ without getting noticed, without the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that someone was watching, that someone was looking for him.

It was probably all in his head. Chances were, working with mutants like Marcus was starting to rub off on him. When Olivia had first explained what she and her uncle were doing, it had sounded exciting. Helping smuggle rogue mutants through Oregon and up to Washington so that they could make their way across the border into Canada and start a new live – it all sounded like some grand, heroic gesture. But the truth was that it was just a lot of _work._ A lot of hiding, a lot of waiting, and a _lot_ of paperwork, making sure the refugees like Marcus would have something to start a new life with once they got to safety.

Safety. Right. As if anywhere was really safe for someone like him, or someone like Marcus. Olivia and her uncle were taking a risk, of course, but at least they'd had a choice. He was a mutant, whether he liked it or not. Never mind that his power wasn't all that dangerous, or that he'd never even considered trying to hurt someone with it. Where was the harm in being able to drain a little color from something, or transfer that color to something else?

But that wouldn't matter to the government if they found out. It certainly hadn't mattered to his father, who had insisted that Lee conceal his power. And his mother … well, his mother probably hadn't even known that her son was a mutant. If she had, she certainly wouldn't have left him with his father.

That was all he had known at first – that she had left. It had been years before his father had explained that she had taken her own life … and even longer before he learned the _real_ truth. It was Olivia who had finally told him the rumor that had spread – that his mother was a mutant who had run off to live in the wilderness.

For years, he hadn't been certain who to believe. But when his own mutation had appeared … well, that proved it, didn't it? He'd left his father behind, moving in with Olivia and her uncle, and had started a new life. Just like the other mutants he was trying to help. A new life. A fresh start.

Except…

Except he hadn't been able to just leave. His brothers were still here in Bend. His mother might still be here somewhere, hiding in the wilderness. Something kept drawing him back, every time he was in the area. So here he was, sitting at a cafe with his older brothers, who eyed Marcus curiously but said nothing. They knew better than to ask questions. The less they knew, the less they would have to hide. This was his work, his life now, and he didn't want to drag them into trouble.

Not that he'd ever wanted to be dragged into trouble himself, either. Not the way Olivia did, certainly. She lived for trouble. She _thrived_ on it. The excitement, the thrill, the chance to 'stick it to the government,' as she put it, if only in some small way.

And it _was_ a small way, in the end. He wasn't naive enough to think that what they were doing would really put a dent in anything. A mutant or two here or there wouldn't be missed. But for now, it was what they could do. They couldn't afford to take the chance of trying something more ambitious. Not yet. Not until they had more support.

Then they would find a better solution.

Until then, they would have to make do.

Just as Lee was about to call the waitress over to take their order, however, he saw Marcus quickly raise his menu to cover his face. "What is it?" Lee whispered as quietly as he could. What Marcus probably didn't realize was that trying _not_ to be noticed had just made him that much more noticeable.

"Sentinels," Marcus hissed back, shielding his face. Lee stretched his arms, taking the opportunity to glance nonchalantly in the direction Marcus was trying to hide from. There _were_ two Sentinels there, but they didn't seem to be taking any notice of the five of them. "Probably nothing," Olivia assured him. "Just act normal."

Lee nodded in agreement, but he could feel his whole body growing tense. Sentinels were becoming a much more common sight in larger cities, but Bend wasn't _that_ big. What were they doing here?

And why were they coming towards the cafe?

Lee set down his menu. The Sentinels were a little too close for comfort now. "Okay." His voice was low, just loud enough for the others to hear. "Stay calm. We're going to get up slowly and head into the cafe. Pretend we're going in to find different seats or something. Olivia's parked on the other side. We get in the car, and we drive away – slowly. Don't draw attention. Don't—"

Before he could finish the sentence, however, Marcus was on his feet, darting towards the cafe, sending a gust of wind in his wake, blowing a few of the tables and a woman near the Sentinels backwards. "Or we could just run," Lee muttered as the others scrambled to their feet, racing after Marcus. He could see the woman near the Sentinels shouting something, but he couldn't make out her words over the wind, which was starting to pick up even more. Marcus was standing by the door of the cafe, waiting for them, sending gust after gust of wind towards the Sentinels.

Lee grabbed Marcus' arm as he reached the door of the cafe, pulling the boy along behind them. "Stay close," he hissed as the five of them wound their way towards the back exit and out the door. He could see Olivia's car. Maybe—

Olivia leapt into the driver's seat, and his brothers piled in alongside her. What were they running for? Lee shoved Marcus into the backseat and climbed in beside him. "Go!" he shouted as he slammed the door shut, but he could already see a hand – a giant metal hand – reaching into the car. "Duck!" Lee called to Marcus, and he quickly did the same.

But not quickly enough. The hand smashed through the door just as Olivia stepped on the gas, but the robot wasn't reaching for Marcus. Lee couldn't help a scream as the hand closed around him, dragging him from the car. "Go!" one of the others shouted, and Lee could see the car pulling away, even as the Sentinel lifted him higher into the air.

"Put him down!" ordered a voice. Lee clenched his fists as the Sentinel lowered him to the ground beside a woman who was holding some sort of collar. As he was still getting his bearings, the collar snapped around his neck. "Next time, _wait_ for my orders," the woman grumbled at the robots before turning to Lee. "Sorry about that. They're efficient, but not particularly discreet. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."

Lee raised an eyebrow, nodding towards the Sentinels. "Ask?"

The stranger grimaced. "Touche. I was trying to be polite. I've got a car out front. You can either come under your own power or not. Your choice."

It wasn't much of a choice.

* * *

 **Elena Burleigh, 21  
** **San Francisco, CA**

 **10:49 PST**

Someday she would find a better solution.

Elena glanced this way and that as she and Astrid made their way through the crowded streets. It was always better during the daytime, when the streets were packed full of people milling about. She had always felt safer in a crowd, where there were more watching eyes. More eyes, but fewer of them focused on _her_.

It wasn't that she didn't like attention – as long as it was the right _kind_ of attention. A friendly smile, a round of applause, congratulations for a job well done. She had always been at home in the spotlight, and had left home three years ago in the hope of becoming a DJ and music producer in the big city.

So far, most of her gigs had been pretty small-time. But she was making it work. She had an apartment of her own – no small feat in San Francisco – and was on her way to a wedding reception for a friend of one of Astrid's friends. Their first DJ had backed out only a few days ago, and the couple had been desperate enough to pay a little extra for someone to step in at the last moment. All in all, things were going pretty well.

If only she could shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

That was how it had all gone wrong one night. She had been walking home alone from her regular club – a cozy little place called The Second Circle. There had been a group of men following her. Or at least, she had been certain they were following her. She wasn't as sure now. Maybe they had simply been going in the same direction. In hindsight, it was easier to give them the benefit of the doubt.

In the moment, however, she had panicked. She had started walking faster. Faster. Trying to ignore a tingling sensation that was building in her fingers. By the time's nearly reached her apartment, she'd been at a full sprint. She'd raced inside and promptly thrown up in the toilet.

Only then had she looked down at her hands and realized that her fingers had changed. At first, she had thought she was hallucinating. She'd only had one or two drinks, but what other explanation was there for the fact that her fingers had turned to metal?

There _was_ another explanation, of course. Her fingers really _had_ turned to metal. She was a mutant. For weeks – months, really – she'd resisted the idea. She _couldn't_ be a mutant. She didn't _want_ to be. She just wanted to live her life, just like she always had. She wanted her friends, and her shows, and her music. Being a mutant … It put all of that in danger.

Didn't it?

It wasn't as if she'd wanted to use her power, or would use it for anything dangerous. She couldn't even control it – not really. Mostly it seemed to happen when she was nervous. Stressed. It wasn't something she _wanted_ to do. What was the point in turning herself to metal? Well, maybe it would _look_ pretty neat – her hands shining in the dancing lights of the club as the music played. It was only her hands that changed, after all. Sometimes her feet. But that was all.

But that would be enough, if anyone ever found out. It didn't seem to matter whether a mutant's powers were particularly dangerous. Anything could be dangerous in the wrong hands; that was how the argument went. They would be worried that she would use hers to … what? Fight? She'd never thrown a punch in her life. She'd never wanted to. Sure, there were creeps at the clubs sometimes, but it was always easier to just talk them down, or walk away.

But that wouldn't matter if she was caught.

So she'd done her best to make sure she didn't _get_ caught. She avoided walking home alone at night – sometimes even during the day. The more she avoided stressful situations where her power might start to appear, the safer she was. So far, that had been enough. Maybe eventually she would come up with something better – a way to stop her power from appearing at all. But for now, at least things were under control.

"Thanks again for doing this." Astrid's voice shook Elena from her thoughts. "They were really worried they wouldn't be able to find someone who would come in on such short notice – and in the morning, too. Seriously, who gets married in the _morning_?"

Elena shrugged. "I like mornings."

Astrid chuckled. "You like _everything._ "

"Not _everything_."

"Name one thing you don't like."

Elena grinned. "Math." Sure, she'd always been pretty _good_ at it, but she'd never liked it – not the way her parents had hoped she would. Both of them had hoped that she would go into something traditional in college. Math, science, maybe engineering.

It had never occurred to them that she didn't want to go at all.

She hadn't told them that, of course. She'd simply told them she hadn't been accepted. The truth was, she'd been accepted at every school she'd applied to. But as good as she'd always been at academics, she'd never _enjoyed_ it. She'd never loved it the way she loved her job – her _life_ – now that she was away from all of that. She still loved her parents, but this was _her_ life, not theirs. It was her choice.

A woman was waiting for them at the door when they arrived. "Elena Burleigh?"

"That's me." She'd changed her last name after moving to San Francisco.

"I need you to come with me." The woman gestured towards a large van that was parked nearby.

Elena shook her head. "I brought my own equipment over yesterday—"

"This isn't about the wedding reception, Elena."

 _What?_

Elena took a step back. "What do you mean?"

"You need to come with me. I've already arranged a replacement for you; they should be here any moment."

"Why would you—"

"Please, Elena. It's such a lovely day, and such a nice party. If I have to call in the Sentinels…"

Whatever the rest of the sentence was, Elena didn't hear it. As quickly as she could, she turned and raced back the way she had come. Sentinels. That could only mean one thing. They knew she was a mutant. Somehow, they knew. _Shit._ Okay. Okay, maybe she could make it back home. It wasn't that far. She could grab a few things, catch a ride out of town, and then—

And then _what_? Go back to her parents? No. No, this was her home now. But if the Sentinels had found her here, they could find her back home. She had to disappear. Start again somewhere else, change her name, and—

Just then, a Sentinel stepped out from behind a nearby building. Of _course_ they'd been lurking somewhere nearby. Elena screamed, trying to dodge out of the way as the arm reached down, clamping around her waist. She could feel a tingling sensation in her fingers, working its way through her hands and towards her wrists. _Stop._ She had to stop. Maybe she could convince them she'd made a mistake.

As the Sentinel carried her back towards the van, however, she already knew it was too late for that. If it had been a mistake, there would have been no reason for her to run. They knew. Elena clenched her fists as the Sentinel lowered her towards the van. Astrid was still there, watching. Staring at her hands. Elena didn't have to look down to figure out why.

"Are you happy now?" she asked, glaring at the woman who was standing beside the van.

The woman shook her head. "No. But for now, there's nothing either of us can do about that." She clamped a thin plastic collar around Elena's neck, and immediately the tingling in her fingers faded. The Sentinel let go, and Elena stumbled for a moment before finding her balance again. She shook her head, glancing around at the people, then at the van.

"What do you want with me?"

* * *

 **Frederick William Phillip Bouvy, 17  
** **Bel Air, CA**

 **14:12 PST**

He was lucky his parents had found a solution.

Frederick leaned back on the couch, flipping through channel after channel. A news lady on one channel was saying something about mutants; so was a politician on a second channel. It seemed to be all that everyone wanted to talk about on television these days. Mutants this and mutants that. Dangerous mutants who couldn't – or didn't want to – control their powers. Mutants who had to be contained.

He was one of the lucky ones. He'd discovered his power at the age of six when he'd accidentally melted one of his toy cars. After a half-hearted attempt to pass it off to his parents as some sort of accident with the stove, he'd broken down in tears and told his parents the truth. He'd been terrified, worried that they would ship him off to a mental institution like his brother.

Instead, they'd started looking for a solution. A way to fix his problem. They figured out pretty quickly that he could only melt things with his hands. It took them longer to find the right material to block his power. But after weeks of experimenting with different materials, they'd discovered that his power couldn't melt through snakeskin. Soon, he had a pair of snakeskin gloves – as well as several extras in case the first pair became damaged.

After that, things had returned to normal. He'd returned to school, his parents explaining to his teacher that he had to be allowed to wear the gloves because of a horrible accident that had left his hands burnt. At first, he hadn't wanted to lie to people, but he certainly hadn't wanted to tell them the truth, either. And after a while, people stopped asking. Some of the other kids were curious, but most were jealous that _they_ didn't have a cool pair of snakeskin gloves.

And every year at Christmas, along with his other presents, there would be a new pair waiting for him – whether he'd outgrown the old ones or not. It had become a tradition of sorts, a little reminder that they would take care of him. That there was no problem that couldn't be solved with enough time, patience, and money. Fortunately, his parents had plenty of all three.

Frederick flipped to another channel. Not everyone was that lucky, of course. There were mutants who simply hadn't found a way to control their powers. Mutants who were as much of a threat to themselves as they were to anyone else. They were the ones he felt sorry for. Some of them were probably trying, desperate to find a way to contain their powers. As desperate as he and his parents had been. They were a threat to other people, certainly, but they weren't the real problem.

No, the _real_ problem was mutants who knew how to control their powers, but simply chose not to. Mutants who _chose_ to use their abilities to cause destruction and chaos. There weren't many of them, certainly, but _they_ were the reason the government was getting a bit carried away with their Sentinel program. Everyone else … well, they were just caught in the crossfire.

He did his best to stay out of it, of course. Aside from his parents and his housemaid, no one else even knew he _was_ a mutant. When the subject of mutants came up at school, he avoided it – or quietly pretended to agree with what his friends were saying. They were just afraid. When they said that all mutants should be locked up or deported or … or worse … they were talking about the dangerous ones. The ones who were really a threat. They weren't talking about mutants like _him_.

Were they?

Frederick shook the thought from his head. They didn't know. None of them had any idea that they were friends with a mutant. If they did … if they realized that _some_ of them – _most_ of them – were just trying to live normal lives, then they would understand.

But he couldn't tell them. Because if even one of them let it slip to the wrong person, then the government would find out. Then he would have to register, and … what? What would they do to him? He'd heard, occasionally, about mutants simply disappearing, but that was for their own good, wasn't it? They were being taken somewhere where they couldn't hurt anyone else – or themselves.

"Frederick?" his father called. "There's someone at the door asking for you."

Frederick raised an eyebrow. "Who is it?"

"She says she wants to talk to you."

Frederick shrugged and headed downstairs. At the door was a woman in a sharp-looking suit. "Frederick Bouvy?"

"That's right. Frederick William Phillip Bouvy."

"That's quite a mouthful."

Frederick chuckled. He got that reaction a lot, but he _liked_ his full name. There was something sophisticated-sounding about it. "What's yours?" he asked.

"Francine. Francine Marie Temple, but just Francine will do." She glanced behind her, as if expecting someone else to show up. "I'm going to have to ask you to come with me, Frederick."

"Why?"

"It's about your mutation."

 _Shit._ Okay, he could still play it cool. They couldn't know for sure – not really. Maybe they suspected, but…

"What mutation?"

"Please don't play stupid. It's been a long day. Just come with me, fill out some paperwork, and we'll have you back before supper."

"That's it?"

Francine nodded. "Look, kid, we can see you've got it under control. Keep wearing those gloves, and there won't be a problem. Just a little routine paperwork, and you're good to go. So what do you say?"

Frederick's father shook his head, stepping between the two of them. "He's not going anywhere with you – not without us."

Francine shrugged. "Fair enough. He's still a minor, after all. Frederick, you come with me; your parents can follow in their own car. That way, you can get a start on filling these out." She handed him a stack of papers and headed towards the van that was parked out front. Frederick turned to his father, who still looked reluctant but grabbed his keys and headed towards the garage. Frederick climbed in the passenger seat of the van.

Immediately, Francine pulled out of the driveway. "Wait!" Frederick called, fastening his seat belt. The garage door was still opening. "How's he supposed to follow us if—"

"You've got a GPS on your phone, don't you?"

Frederick relaxed a little. "Right. But what's the rush? I mean, there can't be too many people waiting to fill out paperwork on a Sunday, right?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you."

Frederick brightened. "You mean I might get to meet some other…"

"Some other mutants?" Francine smiled. "Absolutely."

Frederick nodded, but his heart was pounding. As far as he was aware, he'd never met another mutant. The idea of meeting someone else like him … Maybe it was a good thing the government had found him, after all. If all he had to do was fill out some paperwork, then maybe this wasn't so bad after all.

Maybe he'd been worried over nothing.

* * *

 **Sybil Herveaux, 21  
** **Los Angeles, CA**

 **15:06 PST**

This arrangement was the best solution for everyone.

Sybil leaned forward in her chair, letting a little starlight weave its way through her hair as the pair of them ate. Isaac had invited her to a late lunch at a cozy little cafe on a surprisingly uncrowded beach. He could always find the perfect places to give them a little space, a little privacy. It was sweet, wanting to be alone with her, and it lowered the chances that they might run into Virgil.

Not that Virgil would be in much of a position to complain, if he ever discovered that she was also seeing Isaac. After all, Virgil had a wife and children at home. If _he_ was having a little fun on the side, there was no reason she shouldn't be able to do the same. Besides, she'd been with Isaac since high school. If _anyone_ was a little 'fun on the side,' it was probably Virgil. She respected him, and being in the good graces of a prominent television host was certainly useful, but she could never love him quite the same way she loved Isaac.

But that was all right. She didn't need to love them the _same_. She was happy with the arrangement she had with both of them, although she occasionally got the impression that Virgil wanted more. That maybe he was even ready to take the next step, to leave his wife and children and run off with her. But she couldn't have that. If he did that, his reputation would be ruined, and his usefulness would be … if not _gone_ , then certainly diminished.

No, things were better just the way they were. She certainly had no cause to complain. Everyone got what they wanted, and if others were getting it, too … well, all the better, right? Sybil took another bite of her dessert, gazing out at the water. "Well, look at that."

Isaac turned to look. Sybil flicked her wrist a little, and beautiful shades of pink, blue, and purple began to dance on top of the nearest waves. Isaac grinned, watching as the colors drifted back and forth, almost as if they had a life of their own.

They didn't, of course. She was controlling the colors, the starlight she had learned to conjure at a fairly young age. Maybe it wasn't the most useful power, but it was _fun_ , and it was harmless. A few colors here, a dash of light there. A little splash of starlight mixed in with her usual makeup to make her even more irresistible. There was no harm, no reason _not_ to experiment. Even if the wrong people eventually found out, there was no reason for them to fear what she could do. The starlight wasn't even tangible, after all. It tickled, sometimes, but that was all.

Still, there was only one person she'd ever told about her gift, and he was sitting in front of her, smiling, almost hypnotized by the way the light was dancing on the water. "It's beautiful," he breathed at last. "And so are you."

In an instant, he was by her side, wrapping her in his arms, his lips pressed against hers. Yes. Yes, _this_ was the way things were supposed to be. This was where the two of them belonged, wrapped in each other's arms, watching the starlight dance on the water. It was so simple, so perfect. So many people had lost sight of that – the simple perfection of a man and woman together, the way things had always been. The way things were _supposed_ to be.

"Sybil Herveaux?" A voice broke through her train of thought. "I'm sorry to interrupt."

Sybil glanced up, and two things immediately sprang to her attention. The first was the woman in front of her, her hair pulled up in a bun, her navy blue blazer and slacks screaming 'business.' What was she doing in a restaurant like this on a _Sunday?_ Did her husband know she was here? Sybil could see the ring on her finger. Sybil almost chuckled.

But she didn't, because the _second_ thing she noticed was that almost everybody had left the restaurant. Only a few people lingered at one of the tables in the opposite corner, chatting quietly. "Can I help you?" Sybil asked, standing up. Isaac followed suit.

"My name is Francine. I need you to come with me."

"Why?"

"Just a little quick paperwork. We know about your mutation."

Sybil took a step backwards. "My what?"

"Your mutation. The starlight on the water – that's a pretty neat trick."

Sybil forced a laugh. "You're making a mistake. I was just pointing out how beautiful it was, and—"

"No, you weren't." There was no doubt in the woman's voice. _Shit_. How could they have found out? There was only one person she'd ever told, and—

Sybil turned to Isaac. "Did you … did you tell someone?"

He hesitated. Only for a moment, but that was enough. Sybil took a step back. Then another. "Why?"

Isaac's face was, for the first time, unreadable. Or maybe this was simply the first time she _was_ reading it. "I had to," he answered flatly. "It's my job."

"Your job?"

"You were my assignment. I've been keeping an eye on you ever since high school, and when I heard they were looking for contestants with eye-catching abilities for some sort of game … Well, it doesn't get more eye-catching than what you can do, right?"

Slowly, the pieces fell into place. A game. A game with mutants. She turned to the woman beside her. "You're with the government. That business up in Alaska last year – that was you. And now you're doing … what? Something similar?"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Well, you're quick. None of the others quite put it together yet."

"I'm not like the others."

"Clearly. So I'm sure you'll understand why it's less trouble for all of us if you come along quietly."

Sybil hesitated. The stranger was trying to flatter her into cooperating; that much was obvious. But she was also _right_. There was no point in trying to fight – not when there was no one here to help her. She had no doubt the woman wasn't alone; she probably had some Sentinels waiting outside as backup. And Isaac didn't seem the least bit interested in helping.

Okay. Okay, maybe this wasn't so bad. Maybe she could _use_ this. The experiment last year had been televised, after all. Maybe there was some way she could use that to her advantage. But that wasn't likely to happen unless she at least appeared to be cooperating. Once they got wherever it was they were going, there was certain to be someone who could help her.

Someone better than Isaac.

Sybil forced a smile. "Of course. Wouldn't want to get the customers upset by fighting things out here. I guess we'll have to save that for later." That was what had happened last year on the island, after all – a fight.

Well, quite a few fights.

Sybil followed the stranger out of the cafe and towards a large van. The woman handed her a thin plastic collar. "I'm going to have to ask you to put this on. Just a formality, really; your power certainly isn't dangerous, and I'll leave it turned off as long as I can."

Sybil nodded and slipped the collar around her neck. The woman was trying to be polite. Maybe even trying to be kind. That was her mistake, and Sybil wasn't about to make the same one. Kindness wouldn't get her anywhere. If she wanted to get out of this alive, she couldn't afford to be kind.

But that wouldn't be a problem.

* * *

 **Francine Temple, 43  
** **Calpet, WY**

 **18:35 MST**

"Any problems?"

Francine shook her head as she stepped off the plane. Judah was waiting for her there; he'd probably been one of the first to make it back. She didn't particularly like Judah, but even she had to admit that he was nothing if not efficient, and he was very good at what he did. It was just that what he _did…_

Francine shook her head. He had spent his day doing the same thing she had. What they were doing … maybe there wasn't so much of a difference between them, after all. Sure, she had more doubts, more reservations, but what if that didn't really matter in the end? What if all people knew – all they remembered about the MAAB – was what they had _done_?

What she had done.

"Who else is back?" Francine asked casually, or, at least, in a voice that she hoped sounded casual. Normal. Not that there was anything normal about what any of the were doing.

Judah smiled as they headed towards the back of the plane. "You're the fourth one so far. Lilian beat me back, and Hans got here a little before you did. Nicholas is on his way, but it sounds like Mack and Alvin are going to be a bit later.

Francine nodded. "No problems, though?"

Judah chuckled. "Don't sound so hopeful. Everything's going according to plan, for the most part. Picked up an unexpected surprise, but nothing we shouldn't be able to handle."

Francine raised an eyebrow. "Unexpected surprise?"

"An extra contestant," Judah explained. "Nothing to worry about. You said there were plenty of extra collars."

Francine shook her head. " _Collars,_ yes, but that doesn't mean that we're prepared for extra contestants, or the complications they might cause. What sort of power are we—"

Judah cut her off. "He says he's unlucky. Not sure what sort of a mutation that is, but I can't think of a good reason why he'd lie about something like that."

Francine nodded, taking that in. Bad luck? How were they supposed to account for what might happen because of _that_? That could mean anything. "Can I talk to him?"

Judah shrugged. "Don't see why not, but I'm not sure he'll be able to tell you much. Doesn't really seem to understand how it works himself. For the most part, he just seems happy it _isn't_ working right now."

Francine nodded. "And during the Games?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if he'd rather have the collar turned _on_ , what happens during the Games? Do we keep it on, or turn it off and see what happens?"

"Not my call," Judah reasoned. "Can't see where it would matter much one way or another. The kid's in pretty bad shape already, physically and mentally. Can't really see him lasting long, bad luck or not."

"Then why is he here?"

"Because he wants to be."

"What?"

"He volunteered. Stowed away on the plane, agreed to stay willingly. He doesn't know _exactly_ what he's volunteered for, but the idea of someone _choosing_ to be in the Games – that's something we can work with."

Francine shook her head. "That's what we've been telling people all along – that they volunteered for this as an experiment."

"But this time it's _true_. We can use that. We'll just have to find the right way to spin it. We'll have to wait for everyone to get back, but I think we've got something here."

Francine watched silently as Judah headed for the back of the plane, ready to escort their new arrivals inside. He was right; they certainly had _something_.

But was it something they wanted to have?

* * *

" _Do you want vengeance or a solution?"_


	8. Wait

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Thank you to _santiago. poncini20_ , _So hard to choose usernames_ , _paperairline_ , and _Tiger outsider_ for Ansel, Kiara, Iola, and Joseph, respectively.

And no, the two Moores are not related. The last names are just a coincidence.

* * *

 **Wait**

* * *

 **Dr. Hans Brenner, 75  
** **08:32 CST**

He would just have to wait a little longer.

Hans rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he stepped out into the sunlight. He'd never much cared for big cities, and Chicago was about as big as they got. Technically, he wasn't _in_ Chicago, but the traffic on the way from the airport to the smaller suburb of Evanston had been enough to remind him why he was glad they'd chosen Wyoming for this year's Games.

Of course, the location hadn't been chosen for _his_ comfort. This year's location, much like the previous year's, had been chosen because of its distance from any significant population centers. It both minimized the possibility of casualties and the possibility that any of the contestants might escape.

He had been pleasantly surprised that none of last year's contestants had even _tried_. Sure, they'd been stuck on an island in Alaska, but a few of them could manipulate water, and one of them had been able to levitate. None of them had even tried to swim away from the island, and only one had tried to make a break for it before the Games. For the most part, they'd accepted the MAAB's word that they wouldn't be able to get away.

So this year, they'd decided that it would be safe to branch out a little. Their space for the Games wouldn't be nearly as contained this time, which had presented a whole new set of challenges when it had come to placing the cameras. Finally, they'd decided against trying to cover the whole area with cameras, and had instead mounted a few in key areas. The rest of the microscopic cameras would be mobile, and they could track the contestants through their collars. It would be much more efficient than last year.

And also much more exhausting.

Hans straightened his tie as he made his way down the street towards the nearest bus stop. One or two more years. Once the Games were on more solid footing, he could leave matters to the younger members of the board. Another year or two, and he would be done.

For now, though, he had a job to do, and the best thing was to just do it and get it over with. Nicholas had assigned him some of the easier contestants – or, at least, the contestants they assumed might be easier to collect. If last year was anything to go by, their guesses weren't always accurate. But he could always call in the Sentinels if something went wrong.

Not that anything was likely to go wrong here – at least, nothing he couldn't handle. Nothing worse than complicated bus schedules. Hans sighed as he got on the first of three buses. Okay. He could do this. Four cities. Four mutants. Then a short flight back to Wyoming. After that, the majority of the work would fall to the rest of the MAAB.

This wasn't his specialty, after all – not really. Public relations were Mack's, while the technological side of the Games fell mostly to Francine and Alvin. Judah was in charge of security, while Nicholas had the final say in important decisions. But for the most part during the Games last year, Hans and Lilian had simply been observers.

Hans was perfectly fine with that. He'd been recruited for the MAAB due to his work with genetics. As such, he'd had some say in identifying which of their contestants might have the most potential, while Lilian had some input in how they might interact. But now that the contestants had been chosen, their part was mostly over.

There was just one job left to do.

* * *

 **Ansel Moore, 21  
** **Evanston, IL**

 **08:55 CST**

The rest could wait until later.

Ansel leaned back in his chair as he closed his laptop, satisfied. The paper wasn't due until tomorrow, but he'd wanted to get everything out of the way this morning. So he'd gotten up early, while his roommate Carlos was still in bed, and used a little of his power on himself. He had to be careful when he did that; it was always harder than using it on others. If he used it too long, he would get dizzy. Longer, and his nose would start bleeding. He didn't want to find out what might happen after that.

But in small doses, it was pretty harmless, and it was always good for getting papers done. Ansel stretched his arms and glanced over at Carlos, still sprawled out on his bed, snoring softly. As quietly as he could, he got up and headed for the closet. He'd been in such a rush to get started this morning, he hadn't even bothered to change his clothes. Silently, he pulled on a clean shirt and pants, tossing his dirty ones into the laundry bin.

Carlos never bothered with that. Dirty shirts and socks were strewn across his half of the room, and a few spilled over onto Ansel's side. Ansel picked one up and tossed it back onto the other side of the room. It hit an empty cup, which toppled over onto the floor with a gentle thump. Carlos rolled over. "You're up already? Don't you know it's Sunday?"

Ansel couldn't help a chuckle. "Of course. Weekend's almost over. Don't you want to _do_ something with it rather than spend half of it sleeping?"

Carlos rolled his eyes. "I don't know how you do it."

"I don't know how _you_ do it," Ansel admitted. Almost a whole year of rooming together, and he'd never once seen Carlos sit down and do an assignment. Yet he'd passed all of his classes in the fall, and didn't seem to be doing any worse with the ones he was taking now. It was as if he was using some sort of magic to get his work done.

Of course, some people would probably accuse Ansel of the same thing, if they knew. But the only person he'd told was Louis, and he'd always been able to trust Louis. There was a part of him that wanted to tell his family, or a few more of his friends, to let them know exactly what he could do. There was a part of him that even wanted to make it public, to offer to help students at the university who were struggling to find inspiration, to figure out what they wanted to do with their lives.

And in a different world, maybe he could. Maybe people would welcome his help. But he had no way of knowing who would appreciate his power and who might turn him in. It was better to be safe. Better to keep his abilities a secret for now.

For now. He would just have to hope that things would eventually get better. In the meantime, he would make the best of what he had, using his power as unobtrusively as he could to help himself, or to give a little nudge to a student who seemed to be struggling in the library, or who looked particularly flustered during an exam. He wanted to do more. He wanted to _help_.

But not yet.

It wasn't _safe_ to help yet.

Ansel drummed his fingers on the table as he glanced over at Carlos, who was snoring soundly again. It wasn't fair. Everyone else was encouraged to use their talents. Musicians, artists, writers. They were all encouraged – _expected_ even – to use their gifts to make the world a little better, a little brighter. But just because _his_ gift came with a mutant gene, he was expected to keep it quiet, to hide what he could do.

It wasn't fair at all, but it was the way things were.

Sometimes he wished he could do something about it. That maybe he could use his abilities on the president or someone high up in the government, and inspire them to feel differently about mutants. But that wasn't how it worked. He couldn't control _what_ a person was inspired to do. Maybe he could make it better, but he could also end up making things worse – inspire all sorts of new ways to control and contain mutants. No, sometimes it was better to simply do nothing.

He _hated_ doing nothing.

A knock on the door shook him suddenly from his thoughts. Who would be here at nine in the morning on a Sunday? Ansel took a cautious step towards the door. Another knock. "You going to get that?" Carlos mumbled.

Ansel made his way towards the door and opened it a little. On the other side stood an elderly man in a suit and tie, looking entirely out of place in the dormitory hallway. "Can I help you?" Ansel asked.

"Ansel Moore?"

"Yes."

"My name is Dr. Hans Brenner. I'm a member of the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board, and I'd like to ask you a few questions. You might want to step out into the hallway."

Ansel froze as Carlos sat up a little. He turned to his roommate and shrugged. "Probably just a misunderstanding. I'll be right back." He stepped out into the hallway and quickly shut the door. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Relax, kiddo. You're not in any trouble. We need your help."

"Help?" Ansel repeated, certain he'd heard the word wrong. "You want me to help you?"

"That's right, Ansel. You have a gift – a gift that you wish other people could _see_ is a gift. Well, I can help you make that happen. We have a problem, Ansel – a problem we're trying to solve. We could use a little inspiration, if you know what I mean."

"I'm … I'm really not in trouble?"

"Not at all. You come with me, help us solve our little problem, and come right back here when you're done. And who knows? If you do a good job, we can put in a good word for you with some other groups that might be in need of help. We'll see to it that you're well-compensated, of course. How would you like a little help with next semester's tuition?"

"You mean it?"

"Of course. So what do you say?" He held out his hand expectantly.

Ansel hesitated. All of this sounded a little too good to be true, but how could he pass up the opportunity? It was exactly what he'd wanted. A chance to show the government that his power – that _all_ mutants' powers – could be used for good, if only they were given the chance. "I'm in," he agreed, shaking Dr. Brenner's hand firmly.

"Where are we going?"

* * *

 **Kiara Moore, 15  
** **Ponemah, MN**

 **11:03 CST**

They would just have to wait a little longer.

Kiara shook her head as she stared out at the lake, still frozen over from the night before. It was a little warmer today, but not much. It would take them a while to figure out that she'd come out here, and longer to decide whether it was worth bothering to come after her. She always came back eventually.

She thought about it sometimes – running off somewhere and never coming back. It was a large enough reservation, and she could make her way to another one if she thought they were getting too close. She knew how to fend for herself, how to live off the land. She could make it on her own, if it got to be too much someday.

But…

But she couldn't leave her mother. She didn't even _want_ to – not really. She just wanted to leave the rest – the growing number of people who thought it was okay to come to her for help with anything from a hangnail to the common cold. People who assumed that she would be all to happy to heal them, and who, increasingly, didn't even bother to thank her afterwards. People who probably didn't even think of her as human – just as another tool to use to cure their illnesses.

It hadn't started that way. It had started with her mother, who had been diagnosed with breast cancer when Kiara was eight. Night after night, she had fallen asleep at her mother's side, hoping and praying for a miracle. When the miracle had finally come, she'd had no reason to think that _she_ was the one who had caused it. She was just happy it had happened.

But it kept happening. Little things here and there, after that. Finally, she begun to test the idea that _she_ might have done something. A rabbit's paw here. A dying plant there. All returned to perfect health at her touch. Soon, her garden was the most beautiful anyone had ever seen, but most people just figured she had a knack for it.

A little over a year ago, all of that had changed. Her second cousin's stepfather had been shot in a failed mugging, and she had healed him, right in front of everyone. She hadn't had a choice. Well, the choice had been to expose herself as a mutant or to let someone _die_. That wasn't much of a choice at all.

After that, people just figured she wouldn't have a choice at all, and started coming to her to be healed of anything that might be troubling them. A headache, a stomach bug, a few bumps and bruises. At first, she was happy to help, despite the time it took and how much the harder tasks left her exhausted. She'd figured they might be upset to learn that she was a mutant, and was simply relieved that they hadn't tried to burn her at the stake or something.

After a while, though, the relief wore off. Sure, she was still happy to help when it was _really_ needed. When she'd heard about a boy her age who had been paralyzed in a hit-and-run that had killed his parents, she'd leapt at the opportunity to help. And Grayson had been _grateful_ – both for the healing itself and for the fact that Kiara and her mother had taken him in afterwards. The two of them were close now, and Kiara was hoping to convince her mother to adopt him.

That was one thing. _That_ wasn't the problem. Saving a life … that was all well and good. But the truth was that most of the people who came to see her didn't really _need_ her. What they needed was an aspirin and a few hours' sleep. But coming to her was easier. It was quicker. And as often as she tried to put her foot down and refuse, she always gave in, in the end.

Because _that_ was easier, too. Taking a few moments to cure their stupid common cold was easier than an hour of arguing the point, of getting offended by the way they treated her, by the way they felt _entitled_ to treat her, just because of how they'd seen a few mutants on the news. They might see her as one of the 'good ones,' but most of them certainly didn't see her as human. In the end, it was easier not to argue, to try to convince them otherwise. It was easier to do her 'job' without complaining, then come out here if she still needed to blow off some steam.

It was easier than leaving.

Kiara settled down on the thin layer of snow, running her hand along a frozen tree root. Now that she'd had time to cool down, she didn't really _want_ to run away. She didn't want to go somewhere _else_. She just wanted things back the way they were, before she'd _known_. Back when her mother's miraculous recovery had seemed like just that – a miracle – rather than a choice, a burden, a responsibility.

She just wanted to be a kid again. She wanted it back. She wanted _all_ of it back.

No, not all of it. She was glad she had helped Grayson. And she was glad she had saved her cousin's stepfather. But she just wanted…

Kiara sighed. She wanted the good parts; it was that simple. She wanted the good parts of being a mutant, without the frustrations that came along with it. But she couldn't have it. No one could. And there were certainly mutants who had it worse. At least people around here had the sense to realize that her power wasn't a threat, and no one seemed frightened of her or what she could do. That was something.

But it wasn't _enough_.

Slowly, Kiara got up. She picked up a stick and tossed it out onto the frozen lake. Then another. It wasn't fair, but it was certainly better than what some other people had. And eventually, she would have to go back. To her mother. To Grayson. She couldn't just stay out here forever.

Not when she had a job to do.

Just as she was about to turn and head back towards her house, however, she heard a sound. A twig snapped somewhere behind her, then another. "They told me I'd find you out here!" called a voice. "You're a hard person to track down, Kiara!"

 _Great_. Someone had figured out where she was. Kiara sighed. "All right, let's just get this over with. What do you want?"

"Your help, Kiara," the stranger answered, taking a few steps closer, shivering a little from the cold. He had _not_ dressed for the weather. "I came here to ask for your help."

"Ask?" That was a little more than most people did. Most people simply showed up _expecting_ help now, like it was something they owed her in return for the damage some of her fellow mutants have done.

"That's right. I'm here to ask you to come with me. When I told your mother about my offer, she told me where to find you. It's a bit of a trip, but we'll make it worth your while."

Kiara raised an eyebrow. She wasn't used to people offering her payment of any kind. "Where are we going?"

"Wyoming. I know it's a bit of a trip, but we wouldn't be asking if it weren't important."

 _Important._ Kiara held back a sigh. He was probably telling the truth about that, at least; he wouldn't have bothered coming all the way from Wyoming for something like a headache or a stubbed toe. "All right, then," she agreed, shrugging.

"When do we leave?"

* * *

 **Iola Boman, 19  
** **White Earth, ND**

 **12:47 CST**

Things would go better if they waited.

Iola took a deep breath as the small plane skidded to a stop on the runway just outside of town, flanked by three Sentinels. Iola glanced over at Compass and Ekon, standing beside her. Waiting to figure out what the newcomers wanted, whether they were a danger to the rest of their little group.

Little, but growing. There were almost twenty of them now, camped out at an RV park just outside of town. They'd been there almost three weeks now, but no one seemed to care, as long as they paid for their spot. As far as anyone else was concerned, they were just a group of teenagers looking for a quiet spot for their spring break.

And 'quiet' certainly applied. White Earth wasn't much of a town, but that was just as well. Anything bigger and they would have to deal with more _humans._ And that was something none of them wanted. If the humans in town found out that they were really a group of mutants, there was no telling what they might do.

No, that wasn't quite right. She knew _exactly_ what they might do – exactly what her own mother had done, upon realizing that she could take the shape of her friends and classmates. Her mother, along with her church, had been convinced that she was possessed and tried to drive the demon out of her. She had spent her childhood starved, beaten, left to sleep out in the cold, all in the hopes that some new method might succeed in purifying her.

Nothing did, of course, because she _wasn't_ possessed. She was just a mutant, but as far as her mother was concerned, _all_ mutants were evil. They all needed to be cured – or if they couldn't be cured, then _punished_.

There was a part of her, still, that wanted to believe that her mother had been the exception. Just one bad apple among otherwise good-natured humans. But too many of the others had the same story. Maybe there _were_ good humans out there, but they seemed perfectly willing to let the cruel ones call the shots, to sit back and watch while those in power 'protected' them from the mutant threat by any means necessary.

So when they'd heard the sound of an airplane, the whole group of them had grown a bit more restless. Now it had landed, along with the Sentinels. Someone was coming for them. Something had drawn their attention at last. Maybe they should have been more careful. They _had_ been stealing what they'd needed for a while, until they had enough to make ends meet. But she had thought they would be safe here – for a little while, at least.

"Two mutants with them," Compass reported after only a moment. That was his gift – his ability to find others like them. It was how he had found her, a few years ago, and how most of the group had come together. Compass was the name he had chosen for himself, just as she had chosen Iola.

Rebirth. Renewal. That was what the name meant, and that was who she was now. The scared little girl who had believed her mother's lies about mutants, who had believed that she was evil and deserved to be punished – that girl was gone. She was dead, along with all ties to the life she had led. _This_ was her family now – not the family she had been born into, but the family she had found. The family she _deserved_.

A family she meant to protect.

"Two mutants on the plane, or is one of them the one getting off?" Iola asked Compass as a figure climbed out of the plane and started moving towards them.

Compass shook his head. "Two still on the plane. This one's human."

So they were collecting mutants, then. She'd feared as much, when she'd seen the plane. It had been about a year ago now, when they'd aired that 'documentary' about mutants who had volunteered to live together on an island. _Volunteered._ Right. She had a group of almost twenty mutants living together in an old RV, and none of them had killed each other. The government was up to something. They were trying to prove a point.

And now they had come for one of her family. Who, she couldn't be sure. Maybe they wanted Compass for his ability to sense other mutants, or Ekon for his enhanced strength. She hoped they didn't want Willa. There had been a few twelve-year-olds on the island the year before, and one of them had even survived, but…

But it didn't matter. Because whoever they wanted, they weren't going to _get_. She would make sure of that.

She just wasn't sure _how_.

Slowly, the man drew closer, the Sentinels following at a distance. Maybe he was trying to appear less threatening, but it wasn't working. "Come on," Iola suggested, gesturing towards the man. "If he thinks it's just the three of us, he might leave the others alone." She had told the younger mutants to stay back, no matter what happened. She just hoped that would be enough to protect them.

Cautiously, the three of them approached the man. When they were close enough, she could see he was holding up his hands. "Easy. Easy there. I just want to talk."

 _Right._ "You're not taking any of them, asshole," Iola growled.

"You haven't heard my offer. We only want one of you. Come along peacefully, Iola, and no harm will come to the rest of your friends."

 _What?_

Her. They wanted her. Not Compass or Willa or even Ekon, but _her_. Before she could give an answer, however, Ekon lunged at the stranger, tackling him to the ground.

Immediately, the Sentinels were on top of them. Iola tried to dodge, but one of them clamped a large, metal hand around her waist. Compass was running back towards the others – probably to try to warn them – when one grabbed him, as well. It took a moment for them to pry Ekon off the stranger, and Iola used that moment to shift into his form. "Let us go!" she demanded in the stranger's voice. "Let all of us go!"

For a moment, the Sentinels sputtered to a stop, but the one holding her looked down. "Override code required."

 _Shit_. Of course there would be a code required for any orders that might contradict their programming, and letting mutants go certainly qualified. Before she could take a guess at what the code might be, the stranger staggered to his feet, and something snapped around her neck. There was a soft _whir_ as the collar activated, and she shifted back to her normal shape.

The stranger shook his head. "You made this more difficult than it had to be. What happens next … remember that it's because of you."

Iola wriggled in the Sentinel's grasp. "You bastard. What are you going to do? Kill them?"

"I won't have to." He turned to the Sentinels holding her friends. "Once we're safely on the plane, let the other two go." He turned his gaze on Iola. "I don't have to kill anyone. All I have to do is tell the humans in town _exactly_ the sort of people you are." He shook his head.

"They'll take care of the rest."

* * *

 **Joseph Harris, 13  
** **Fort Peck, MT**

 **14:03 MST**

He usually didn't have to wait this long for Ben to call.

Joseph drummed his fingers on the table. Ben had said he would call at two, and he usually called a little early. It was almost three minutes after two now. What was _taking_ him so long?

Joseph shook his head, leaning back in his chair. It only seemed like a long time because there was _nothing_ to do here, especially now that the weather made going outside a very unappealing option. Ben still lived in the city. Even when the weather was rotten, he could go to the mall, or the movies, or just invite a group of friends over to his house. Ever since he and his mother had moved out to Fort Peck, Joseph had spent a good part of his weekends bored out of his mind, just waiting for Ben to call. Sometimes he called Ben, but he didn't want to seem like too much of a nuisance. He just wanted to talk to his friend.

Ben was one of the few people who knew about his mutation – or, at least, one of the few people who _believed_ him. Ben's power was pretty obvious, after all. It was easy enough for Ben to prove that he could manipulate fire. Joseph's, however, was a bit less concrete. There was no way to prove, really, that a touch from him could make his friend's power even stronger. It was harder to measure, harder for other people to believe.

Maybe that was a good thing, in the end. Maybe it kept him safer. Most of the people he'd told about what he could do hadn't seemed to believe him. Ben did, of course. And his sister Martha had.

She'd believed him, but she'd also told him what a silly power she thought it was. They'd fought a lot, back when they were younger. They'd taken each other for granted, until one day she was simply gone. The cancer had moved quickly – too quickly for the doctors to do anything. A few weeks after her death, he'd come home from school to find his mother crying. At first, she'd only told him that his father was gone, too. It wasn't until a few months later that he'd learned the truth – that his father had taken his own life.

That was when they'd moved out here. To start a new life, his mother had said. She didn't want to deal with the memories that their old house held. But all of his friends had been back in the city. _Ben_ was back in the city. He hadn't known anyone here, and despite his best efforts, he still didn't really fit in. He just wanted his old life back. He wanted to be a kid again.

Suddenly, the FaceTime app on his phone gave a little beeping noise, and Joseph nearly jumped out of his seat. "Hey," he answered with a grin as Ben's face appeared. "Everything okay over there?"

Ben nodded. "Yeah. Just my mom. Wouldn't let me call til I finished cleaning my room. How about you? What's new in Fort Peck?"

Joseph rolled his eyes. "Not much. Wish you were here to melt all this snow."

"Thought you liked snow," Ben teased.

"Not five straight months of it."

Ben chuckled. "Should've tried to convince your mom to move someplace warmer. She does all her work from home. You could've moved _anywhere,_ and she picks Fort Peck, Montana?"

Joseph didn't say anything. He'd thought the same thing himself on more than one occasion. He understood wanting to get away from somewhere with bad memories, but why had she picked somewhere so far away from _anything_? But he couldn't say something like that to her. For whatever reason, she _loved_ Fort Peck, and she'd already been through enough. He couldn't ask her to go through anything else.

Besides, it could always be worse. He wasn't sure exactly _how_ sometimes, but at least he had his mother. And he still had Ben. Sure, they lived pretty far away from each other now, but at least they could talk to each other. That was something.

And for now, it would have to do.

A sudden knocking on the door shook Joseph from his thoughts. He heard his mother answer it, and then she called out, "Joseph! It's for you!"

Joseph sighed and set the phone down on his bed. "Be right back." He couldn't imagine who might be coming to talk to him _here_. When he reached the living room, he could see an older man standing in the doorway.

"Joseph Harris?" the stranger asked, glancing around the room as if he was expecting someone else. Or maybe just expecting there to be more people. It _was_ a rather large house for just the two of them. Large and almost entirely empty.

Joseph nodded. "That's me. And you?"

"Dr. Hans Brenner. I'm a member of the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board."

Joseph froze. "Are you here because I'm a mutant?"

"Joseph," his mother hissed, her eyes wide and frightened. She'd tried to warn him before not to tell anyone else that he was a mutant, but it wasn't as if most people believed him anyway. He certainly didn't _look_ like a mutant.

Dr. Brenner, however, simply nodded. "Yes, it is. Can't help but notice that you've failed to register as one, young man."

Joseph relaxed a little. "Is that all this is about? So you just need me to … What? Sign up?"

Dr. Brenner chuckled. "It's a little more paperwork than that, but I'll walk you through it. Just come with me and—"

Joseph was halfway out the door before his mother interrupted. "Wait! Where are you taking him?"

"Just into town. Glasgow's probably the nearest place with the proper facilities. Need to get him fingerprinted and run a few tests. Perfectly harmless."

"Then you won't mind if I come with you."

Dr. Brenner shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Glasgow wasn't that much bigger than Fort Peck, but at least they had a few restaurants, a couple hotels, and, of course, a courthouse. Joseph had never been inside, but as courthouses went, it didn't seem particularly intimidating. Dr. Brenner led him to a room downstairs while his mom waited in the next room. "Now what?" Joseph asked, glancing around the room, which was mostly empty.

Dr. Brenner pointed to a door on the opposite side. "Now we go out the back door – quietly. We're going to get on a plane, which is going to take us away from here. That's what you wanted, right? To get away from this place?"

Joseph could feel his face growing red. "How did you know—"

"It's pretty obvious, kid. Not a lot to do around here, nothing particularly exciting. But where we're going, I promise you, there'll be plenty of excitement."

Joseph hesitated. "What about my mom? Is she coming?"

"Not right away. She'll be along later." He laid a hand on Joseph's shoulder. "Don't worry. You're thirteen, after all. That's old enough to be on your own for a little while, don't you think?"

Joseph couldn't help a surge of pride. Dr. Brenner thought he could take care of himself. "As long as you're sure she'll be all right."

"She'll be fine; I promise."

Joseph nodded. "All right. Where are we going?"

Dr. Brenner smiled. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to keep that a secret for the moment." He smiled a little.

"But I promise, it'll be the most exciting time of your life."

* * *

 **Dr. Hans Brenner, 75  
** **Glasgow, MT**

 **14:48 MST**

It was worth the wait.

Hans let out a deep breath as he led Joseph to the plane. The boy climbed into the back without any reservations, and Hans quickly closed the door. Okay. That was four. Joseph had taken a little longer, but it was worth the detour to Glasgow if it meant the boy came along quietly. Troublemakers like Iola, he didn't mind dealing with harshly. But Joseph had never caused anyone any harm.

It wasn't that he _couldn't,_ of course. Any of them could. Any power could be dangerous in the wrong hands. Even something as seemingly harmless as amplifying other mutants' powers, or being able to heal other people. It wouldn't take much for something like that to become a weapon, in the wrong hands.

And that was their job, in the end – making sure that these mutants' hands _became_ the wrong hands. Their job was to push these children to the limit, to force them into situations where they might break, because that was what it would take to show the public how easily it could happen. To remind them of what they were really fighting against, what they really needed to be protected from.

That was just the beginning, of course. The Games weren't a real solution; they never had been. They were a means to an end. A few more years of the Games, and the public would be _begging_ Congress to accept Mack's proposal of grouping mutants into separate communities. So many of them were already on board, after only one year. It wouldn't take long for the rest of the country to follow suit.

It almost seemed too easy.

The hard part, of course, was that isolating the mutants in separate groups was really only the beginning. It wouldn't really solve the problem. It wouldn't stop non-mutants elsewhere from having mutant children. The answer lay in finding a way to _stop_ their mutations, but in order to do that, they needed an environment where they could run experiments without prying eyes. They needed free rein to make decisions that some people might frown upon, that more rigid people might dismiss as unethical or immoral.

Because this wasn't about ethics or morality; it was about _survival._ And whether they wanted to admit it or not, everyone – _deep down_ – understood that urge. It was why the Games had succeeded, after all. Very few people _wanted_ to kill, but everyone wanted to survive. And if their survival required someone else's death, almost everyone was willing to make that decision. Some fretted a bit more about it. Some hesitated, some tried to rationalize it, and a few found the courage to make a different choice. But most of them would fight for their own lives above anyone else's.

Just like humanity would.

Just like it always had.

They had survived so much, as a species. If they didn't survive now – if the mutants _won_ – then all of it was for nothing. All their history, their accomplishments, their inventions. All of _humanity_ would be for nothing if it faded out now, lost to their mutant successors. But if humanity had proved anything, it was that it would not give up easily. They would not go quietly. They would find a way to win the war that was undoubtedly coming; they just had to be patient. There was always a solution.

They just had to survive long enough to find it.

* * *

" _I know something you don't. Something that only comes with age. I know how to wait."_


	9. Hide

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Thank you to _santiago. poncini_ _20_ , _Wonder Tribute_ , _JabbyAbby_ , and _sock-feet-and-stirring-sand_ for Alphonso, Makenzie, Lilith, and Liv, respectively

* * *

 **Hide**

* * *

 **Dr. Lillian Stowe, 58  
** **08:15 EST**

Big cities always made it easier for them to hide.

Lillian glanced around as she made her way briskly down the Miami streets. The streets were already full of people, and a greater concentration of humans also meant a greater concentration of mutants. But even accounting for that, there always seemed to be more mutants in cities, because it was easier to blend in. It was easier to hide a few physical quirks in an environment where modern fashion changed so quickly anyway. It was easier to go unnoticed when everyone was looking at the ground, or at their phones, or trying not to look at the beggar on the street corner.

It was always easier to hide in a crowd.

Fortunately, that also gave her an edge. Sentinels were becoming a more common sight in larger cities, so the two of them following her at a somewhat discreet distance weren't drawing much attention. And there were enough people around that no one was likely to figure out they were following _her_. Getting her job done, of course, didn't _require_ that no one figure out what she was doing, but it never hurt to have the element of surprise.

Besides, it wouldn't be good to have too many witnesses. Part of the idea behind the Games was that the mutants were 'volunteers,' and if enough people knew otherwise, that part of their game was up. That moment had to come eventually, of course – the moment when the public found out that they weren't volunteers at all, and that they had been _told_ to fight to the death, rather than it happening spontaneously. It would happen. But it didn't have to happen _yet_. People weren't quite ready.

Not quite. But they were getting closer by the day. Some people on the streets actually seemed to _relax_ when they saw the Sentinels. That was something she still couldn't quite wrap her brain around. On a conceptual level, it made sense. The Sentinels were supposed to represent protection, serve as guardians to keep normal, ordinary people safe from mutants.

But the truth – the truth that people didn't seem to notice – was that they often caused as much damage as they were supposed to prevent. They were large, a bit clunky, and rather careless of the objects or even the lives that might stand in their way. As long as their mission was accomplished, they didn't seem to care about which humans might end up as collateral damage.

Lillian shook the thought from her head. Of course they didn't _care_. They were robots, not human beings or even mutants. They couldn't care; they could only do what they were programmed to do. And they were programmed to hunt mutants down and bring them in. That was it. They weren't supposed to take care of all the little details, because those sorts of things always needed a human touch, anyway.

And they always would.

After all, that was why the MAAB had been formed in the first place. The president could simply have asked for dozens or hundreds of more Sentinels and sent them out to collect mutants. It had taken a team of humans to explain why that wasn't the best course of action, why they couldn't simply _start_ with rounding up mutants and dragging them off, why the Games would convince everyone – eventually – that what they were doing was necessary.

And it _was_ necessary. Yes, there were mutants who were perfectly harmless. There were probably a few of them walking down the same street as she was right now. Most of them were simply going about their business. But there were also mutants who would kill her – or any other human – without a second thought. And it was impossible to tell which was which until it was too late.

The solution wasn't a pretty one, but important decisions never were. It had taken some members of the board longer to come to the conclusion that the Games were necessary, but most of them were on the same page now. And the others – Alvin and Francine – at least accepted that this was they way things were now. Whatever the purpose of the MAAB had been when it was founded, one of their most important functions now was making sure that the Games continued to function.

She had little doubt that they would now. She'd had some questions last year, especially when a few of the contestants had refused to play along with the Games. But they had been a very small minority. Most of them had realized what had to be done. Most of them had chosen their own lives, even if it meant killing.

And at the end of the day, humanity would do the same. Given the choice between humanity and mutants, most humans would choose their own kind. And fortunately, they were still the majority. Mutants may have some extraordinary powers, but at the end of the day, there were simply _more_ humans.

And that mattered more than most people seemed to think.

* * *

 **Alphonso Bell-Garcia, 15  
** **Miami, FL**

 **08:23 EST**

He could only keep hiding under his covers for so long.

Alphonso groaned a little as the doorbell rang again. His mother and stepfather were out of town for the weekend, and Rafael had Sunday mornings off. Normally, that didn't pose much of a problem; Alphonso was perfectly capable of making breakfast himself when he woke up, which was generally a good deal later than this on Sundays. He certainly wasn't expecting guests. Who would be here a little after eight in the morning on a _Sunday_?

Alphonso stretched his arms a little, wishing he could use his power at this range and simply will whoever it was to go away. But it didn't work like that. He wasn't sure _exactly_ how far away he could manipulate someone, but he'd never had much success if he couldn't see the person, and closer was better. The closer he was to someone, the more likely he was to be able to persuade them to do something specific, rather than simply causing their personality to become more erratic.

The closer he was _physically_ , at least. Emotionally … well, that was a different story. He'd never been able to manipulate those he was the closest to. His mother. His stepfather, Vicente. His butler, Rafael. His father … he'd never had the chance to find out. He'd left in the middle of the night not long after Alphonso had discovered his secret – that _he_ was a mutant.

Alphonso pulled his blankets a little farther over his head. If Alphonso had known then that _he_ was a mutant too, things might have gone differently. As it was, he hadn't been quite sure how to react to his father using his powers to move things around the kitchen. He'd kept quiet, but maybe he should have said something. Maybe he should have reached out. Maybe then his father would have stayed.

Maybe then he wouldn't be quite so alone.

But his father had left, and his mother had practically fallen apart until she met Vicente. He'd had to take care of himself, and look after her, as well. At times, it had seemed like too much to handle. Too much for a young teenager who was supposed to be a _child_. He had never asked for that sort of responsibility.

But he hadn't had a say in the matter. So he'd tried everything he could to cope. Anything to take a bit of the edge off, to help him forget the weight on his shoulders – if only for a little while. When the alcohol had lost its edge, he'd turned to drugs. He'd spent more nights than he wanted to count passed out on the bathroom floor after hooking up with someone who had seemed hot at the time. Sometimes it helped. Sometimes it just made everything seem worse.

Then his mother had met Vicente, and after a few weeks, they'd hired Rafael. He was a butler, yes, but he was the first person Alphonso had met in what seemed like years who hadn't treated him like some pathetic little rich kid who was ruining the incredible life he'd been handed. If Vicente had helped his mother get back on her feet, Rafael had been the one to pull Alphonso back from the brink. He never scolded, never lectured, never _judged_. He listened. He _cared_.

That was more than Alphonso had come to expect from anyone. _People will use you_ , his father had told him, when he'd still been around to tell him anything. _People will use you the first chance they get_. But Rafael had never tried to use him. Never asked for anything from him. He'd never been anything other than kind. In Alphonso's experience, that was a rare thing.

So he was doing his best, trying his hardest to stay clean and sober, to make the people he _did_ care about proud. But it was just so damn _hard_. It was easier to turn back to a bottle of alcohol or a night of drugs and sex than it was to deal with the stress, the bullying, the _reality_ of what his life had become. It was easier to run away.

It was easier to try to hide.

The doorbell rang again, but this time it was followed by a loud crashing noise, coming from the front door. Startled, Alphonso threw back the blankets and leapt to his feet, immediately regretting getting up so fast. The room was still spinning a bit from the night before. He took a few steps towards the door, peering out into the hallway towards the front door.

Or at least, where the front door _should_ have been. It was gone, along with a good portion of the wall. A woman stood where the door had once been, glancing around. Finally, her eyes came to rest on him. "Hello, Alphonso."

Alphonso froze. "Who are you?"

"My name is Lillian Stowe. I'm a doctor."

"What happened to the door?"

She shrugged. "You didn't answer it. So the Sentinels removed it."

Removed it. Right. It took him a moment to register the word that had come before that. Sentinels. They came after mutants who were dangerous, mutants who had to be controlled. But there was no way the government could know about his power, right? If they did, Lillian would certainly be more careful. She wouldn't have gotten this close – close enough for him to…

Alphonso took a deep breath and concentrated. Lillian took a step back, but even as she did, she pressed a button on some sort of remote, and a Sentinel crashed through what was left of the wall. Alphonso turned to run, but a giant hand closed around him before he could get anywhere, breaking his concentration. Something snapped around his neck, and Lillian pushed another button. "That's quite enough of that."

Alphonso squirmed as much as he could. "If you could do that from the start, why would you let me—"

"—try to use your power on me? Curiosity, mostly. I'm a scientist, Alphonso; I wanted to know what it felt like. Though it's not an experience I'd care to repeat." She shook her head. "Mutants like you are the reason the MAAB exists, Alphonso. You didn't think twice about fiddling around with my mind, trying to convince me to do something I didn't want to do."

"Because you're trying to kidnap me!"

Lillian scoffed. "Can you honestly tell me you haven't done the same to anyone else? That you've never used your power – intentionally or accidentally – on someone who meant you no harm?"

Alphonso said nothing. He had, of course. Yes, he'd used his abilities on kids who had bullied him at school, but he'd also been practicing. It was the only way to get better, to learn how to control what he could do. He _had_ to practice, didn't he? How else was he supposed to learn?

But he had a feeling that excuse would get him nowhere with Lillian, so he said nothing as the Sentinel dragged him out to a large van. "What's going to happen to me?" he asked. Lillian shrugged.

"You're going to have the opportunity to show the world what you can do."

* * *

 **Makenzie Norwood, 16  
** **Holly Hill, SC**

 **10:11 EST**

She'd never even thought about hiding what she could do.

Makenzie gave Trent's hand a gentle squeeze as the pair of them stepped out of the church and back into the sunlight. It was bright, which should have made it easier to hide. After all, no one would notice a shadow in broad daylight. All she had to do was keep it on the ground where it belonged and no one would have known the difference.

Instead, she gave her hand a twirl, and her shadow danced around a little, circling the pair of them before coming to rest on her shoulders, as if she was giving it a piggy-back ride, bending over a little to shield the pair of them from the sun. Trent beamed as they headed for the nearby coffee shop. They still got a few strange looks, but most people in Holly Hill knew Makenzie pretty well by now.

It had been years since she'd discovered her power – or, more accurately, since she'd discovered that other people _couldn't_ do what she'd been doing as long as she could remember. She'd been five years old when her mother had come home and found her playing blocks with her shadow. Her mother had tried to explain to a very confused youngster that not everyone played with their shadow when they didn't have any other playmates. That most people simply couldn't, and that she would have to keep what she could do a secret.

Even then, she hadn't been able to keep a secret. She'd told Trent, and between the two of them, it hadn't been long before everyone in the school knew. A couple of the kids were scared at first, but most of them thought it was cool. By the time she'd used her shadow as a soft place to catch a younger kid who had fallen off the monkey bars, most of them had warmed up to the idea of having a mutant in their class.

Besides, it wasn't as if her power was anything _dangerous_. She couldn't control just _any_ shadow; it had to be hers. And it was just tangible enough to give a gentle tap or a warm hug or a soft place to land; the few times she'd tried to hit someone with it, it had simply bounced off, harmless. Completely harmless.

Not that she'd ever really _wanted_ to hurt anyone with it, anyway. It was much more fun to make people laugh with it. She was a hit in every English class where she would morph it into different shapes to go with the stories they were reading. A few years ago, she'd started reading to the younger children at the library during story time, with her shadow acting out everything she read. Last year, she'd been cast as Wendy in the school's production of Peter Pan, and the director had been delighted that they hadn't needed any special lighting tricks to pull off the scenes with Peter Pan's shadow.

Then, shortly after their last show, there had been an _incident_ up in Alaska. People all over the country were up in arms about mutants and the dangers they posed. For a little while, people had kept their distance. But it hadn't taken the children long to decide that she was one of the safe ones. That her power wasn't a threat. Not like those _other_ mutants.

She didn't like using that as leverage – that she was one of the _nice_ ones. One of the _good_ mutants. There were far more mutants like her, after all, than there were dangerous ones. It was just that the dangerous ones were the ones who made it on the news. They were the ones people saw. If they would just realize how many mutants were simply trying to go about their lives, maybe they would stop overreacting.

"Everything all right?" Trent asked, opening the door to the cafe. "You seem a bit…"

"What?"

"Quiet. Is something going on?"

"No, it's just … it's been almost a year now."

"Since what?"

"Since all that stuff up in Alaska. You would think people would be over it by now."

"People need time."

"How much time? I mean, it's not like they wiped out a city full of people or anything. There were, what? Thirty mutants? More people than that get shot every day by ordinary, average humans. But because they got the whole thing on tape, suddenly everybody's upset."

Trent chuckled a little. "You expect people to have reasonable, well-thought-out reactions? To the _news_? What world are you living in?"

He was right, of course. People always overreacted to whatever they saw on television. "I just wish things were different." She caught the look on Trent's face as they sat down. "Not for me, I mean. I've got it pretty good, but—"

Trent shook his head. "But nothing. You've got it pretty good because you're _earned_ it. You've never used your power to hurt anyone. You registered as a mutant the second they passed a law saying you should. You're one of—"

"The good ones," Makenzie finished, but the words tasted sour in her mouth. "I just wish … I wish _that_ was the assumption people would start with, rather than assuming that we're dangerous and us having to work to prove otherwise. If we were innocent until proven guilty, you know, rather than guilty by association until we prove we're the _right kind_ of mutant."

Trent laid a hand on hers. "That would be nice. And we'll get there someday. We _will_. It's just that people are scared right now, and they want to feel safe. They want to know that they're protected. And all the laws, the Sentinels … They make people feel safe."

"And the camps?"

"The what?"

"You saw what they've been proposing on the news. They want to separate mutants into different _settlements_ , send us to live there."

"Just the dangerous ones."

"No. _All_ of us. That's where this is going, unless—"

"Now who's overreacting? They're not worried about mutants who can bring their shadow to life. They just want to keep everybody safe from the ones who can bring down entire buildings or blow up an island."

Makenzie swallowed hard. "I hope you're right." But even that … even that didn't make it better. Because it was just a matter of luck that she'd been born with a rather harmless power. She could just as easily have been one of _those_ mutants. She hadn't had any say in what her power was.

And neither had anyone else. Even the mutants whose powers were more dangerous or destructive hadn't _chosen_ their powers. Sometimes they couldn't even control what they did with them. It was only a small minority of mutants who actively _chose_ to harm others, and that number probably wasn't any higher than the percentage of ordinary humans who made the same choice.

"Makenzie Norwood?"

Makenzie turned to see a woman standing behind her. "Can I help you?"

"I need you to come with me. Just a little update to the paperwork regarding your mutation."

Makenzie gave Trent's hand a squeeze, her shadow curling up protectively around her shoulders. "What sort of update?"

"Nothing huge, and it shouldn't take long, but I do need you to come with me now."

Makenzie hesitated. In the nearly two years since she'd registered as a mutant, nothing had needed updating. They'd never come to see her – not even about using her power in the school play. Something was different now; there was an urgency in the woman's voice that normally didn't accompany discussions of paperwork.

But there wasn't much of a choice. She'd gone along with everything up until now. Why should this be any different? As long as she didn't mean anyone any harm, she didn't have anything to worry about. Did she?

Slowly, she stood up from the table and gave Trent a hug. "I'll be back soon," she assured him, her shadow wrapping around behind him, holding him a little closer.

She just hoped it wasn't a lie.

* * *

 **Lilith Haywood, 23  
** **Dublin, GA**

 **11:28 EST**

"You have to hide! Now!"

Lilith looked up, startled, as her girlfriend Theo burst through the door. Her face was red, and she was breathing heavily. Immediately, she bent over, panting, trying to catch her breath. "Now, both of you!" she insisted again. "You have to hide, or run, or … or something. They're coming!"

Lilith was at her side almost immediately. "Easy. Easy, Theo. Slow down. Who's coming?"

"Sentinels. They're heading this way – three of them. They're coming for you; they have to be. You both have to get out of here, quick!"

Lilith glanced over at her twin sister, Meghan. Her eyes were already wide, terrified. Lilith couldn't exactly blame her. If the Sentinels were coming for anyone, it was probably her. Her power – the ability to turn herself into liquid – was the more obviously dangerous one. Lilith's ability to dampen other mutants' powers wouldn't even affect non-mutants. If anything, the government would probably _want_ mutants like her to be able to use her abilities.

Technically, she could also amplify other mutants' powers, but that was something she'd only tried a handful of times, never with good results. For the most part, she simply helped her sister control her own abilities, helping her master them. It wasn't the flashiest power, maybe, but she couldn't deny it had been useful.

Lilith glanced over at her mothers, both of whom were already scrambling to close the door behind Theo and barricade it with one of the couches. They'd known this was a possibility the moment Meghan's abilities had started to appear. They'd been careful, of course. The whole family knew about the twins' abilities – their mothers, grandparents, Aunt Penelope, and their cousin Colin, but outside of them, Theo was the only person any of them had told.

Now, Lilith was just thankful she had, because now they had some warning. But where were they supposed to hide? Where could they really run? "Out the back door," their mother Mel suggested. "Get as far away as you can. We'll try to hold them off as long as possible."

Lilith shared a quick glance with Meghan. It wasn't much of a plan, but she didn't have a better idea. Lilith wrapped Theo in a quick hug, and the two of them took off as quickly as they could. Out the back door. Down the street. Past a few people who looked confused for a moment before deciding the two of them were probably just out getting some exercise. They simply went back to their business.

Suddenly, she could feel her sister's hand starting to melt in hers. "Don't," Lilith hissed. "If they see you using your power, we're done for. Right now, they don't have any proof."

Not that they needed it. Not that they couldn't simply catch them and test whether or not they were mutants. But if they didn't see Meghan using her power, there was no way they would immediately know which of them was which. If she was right about them wanting to take Meghan, they could buy themselves a little time simply by not giving away which one she was.

So she gripped Meghan's hand a little tighter, calming her power down as they ran. Okay. Okay, they could handle this. They just had to get far enough away. And then … and then what? They couldn't just keep running forever. And their family…

A lump formed in Lilith's throat as she realized she hadn't thought twice about leaving them. She hadn't even considered what the Sentinels might do to them if they tried to interfere. But it was too late to go back now. Lilith risked a glance behind her. She couldn't _see_ any Sentinels. What if Theo had been wrong? What if the Sentinels had simply been coming in this direction, and not wanting to capture either of them?

Lilith gasped for breath. Better safe than sorry. She'd heard too many stories of mutants simply disappearing. Schools being raided. Mutants being taken. Nothing that made it to the news, of course. The news always reported it as dangerous mutants being taken into custody for their own good, or for public safety, or some similar bullshit. The truth was, the government was simply rounding up anyone they thought was too dangerous.

But Meghan … she wasn't dangerous. Not really. Sure, what she could do was pretty impressive, but she'd never tried to _hurt_ anyone. Neither of them had. Why would the government waste time coming after them when there were mutants who had actually tried to cause real damage?

"Lilith?" Meghan's voice was shaky as they ran. "You don't think this has something to do with … with what happened last year? Up in Alaska?"

 _Shit_. Maybe she was being paranoid, but maybe she was right. The people on television had said the incident was a documentary, that the mutants involved were volunteers. But who would really volunteer to be stuck on an island in Alaska? Sure, people did all sorts of stupid shit for the chance to be on television, but the mutants had never acted like they were particularly excited to be on a show.

Lilith gave Meghan's hand a squeeze. "Probably not. But I don't exactly want to stop and ask them."

Meghan couldn't help a laugh, despite their predicament. Just as the two of them crossed the next intersection, however, she could see them. Sentinels, up ahead. " _Shit_ ," Lilith hissed, and the two of them ducked behind the nearest building. "What are they doing _there_?"

The answer was obvious, of course. There were more Sentinels in the area than the ones Theo had seen. Or they had decided to try to head them off instead of chasing them. Or maybe she and Meghan had taken a wrong turn somewhere. Either way, there would be no escaping them now.

"Okay," Lilith gasped. "Here's the plan. You run that way. I'll run this way. Whoever they catch, pretends they're the only one and claims the other one is still hiding at the house. That should give the other one of us time to get away."

Meghan's face was pale, her eyes wide. "Are you sure."

"Yes." No. No, she wasn't sure at all. But she didn't have a better plan. And they had to do _something_ , or the Sentinels would find them both. "On three. One. Two. Three."

Lilith raced out into the streets. She didn't dare look back to see whether Meghan had done the same. That might give her away. Meghan was probably the one they wanted. If she could distract the Sentinels long enough, maybe her sister could get away.

Maybe.

Suddenly, one of the Sentinels stepped out in front of her. Lilith tried to dodge, but a hand reached down and closed around her waist. Immediately, the Sentinel took off, flying back in the direction they had come – but not all the way to their house. It stopped beside a large van, where a woman was waiting. "No trouble?"

"None," the robotic voice reported.

The stranger gave a little smile. "Lilith Haywood?"

Lilith froze. They _had_ been looking for her. Maybe they weren't after Meghan after all. But why would they want _her_? She said nothing as a collar slipped around her neck. There was nothing she could do now. Nothing but hope that Meghan had gotten away.

That would have to be good enough.

* * *

 **Liv Holle, 18  
** **Gainesville, GA**

 **12:41 EST**

Sometimes she wished she didn't have to hide.

Liv pinched the bridge of her nose as she stared at the next question on the scholarship application. It was the question she'd been dreading, the one she always put off until last because she didn't want to lie, but she also didn't want to ruin any chance she might have of actually getting the scholarship. _Are you a mutant?_

She didn't like lying. And it was pointless, really, if they decided to check the lists of registered mutants. She had registered shortly after the Mutant Registration Act was passed. For the most part, it hadn't changed anything. The list wasn't public – officially, at least – and she hadn't given them any excuse to leak her name to anyone. Only her family members knew, and that was usually just fine with her.

But sometimes … sometimes she wondered what it would be like if people knew. If she could stop lying and just _say_ something when the topic came up. If she could tell other people that most mutants were simply trying to live their lives, that she didn't _want_ to be able to affect the weather, that more often than not, it was just an annoying little thing that happened.

She didn't even have much control over it. Weather in this part of Georgia was more than a little unpredictable anyway, so it was hard to tell what was due to her influence and what was just … well, _weather_. But it had been too much to be a coincidence. Too many storms that had cleared up _just_ when she'd wanted them to. So when she'd confided in her parents that she thought she might be a mutant, they'd taken her in to be tested.

They could test for the mutant gene now, after all. It was quick, painless, and had confirmed their fear. For the most part, her parents never mentioned it. She got a few strange looks from her family whenever there were storms in the area, as if they might be wondering whether it was her doing, but none of them said anything. Maybe they thought that if they didn't bring it up, it would eventually go away.

But it didn't work like that. Unless something changed, she would be dealing with that question – _Are you a mutant?_ – for the rest of her life. It had been on the college applications. It was on the scholarship applications. Most likely, it would be on applications for jobs, for loans, for housing opportunities. There would be no escaping it.

So all she could do was lie. Lie, and hope they wouldn't check. She didn't _like_ lying, but what else was she supposed to do? The truth would get her application chucked in the nearest trash bin. No one wanted mutants at their school, at their jobs, in their homes.

Liv sighed, and checked the box that said "No." It wasn't the end of the world if she didn't get this particular scholarship, of course. Her parents had offered to help with tuition if she didn't get enough scholarships to cover the cost, but that wasn't the point. They shouldn't _have_ to help. She was a straight-A student, the top of her class, as well as the top coxswain in her school's rowing program. She'd gotten perfect scores on both the SAT and the ACT, although it had taken her a few tries – five, in fact – to get the latter up from a 34 to a 36. She was an excellent candidate for any school, and for any scholarship.

Or at least, she would be, if it weren't for her pesky mutation.

It was the one thing she couldn't control, the one thing she couldn't perfect. If circumstances were different, maybe she could practice until she had control over it, and then use it for everyone's benefit. Make sure the skies were clear during races, maybe even calm down some of the weather during hurricane season. But she hadn't worked up the courage to really _try_ to use her power like that. What if something went wrong? What if someone _noticed_?

Right now, she was doing a good job of flying under everyone's radar. In a few months, she would graduate as her class valedictorian. Acceptance letters for the Ivy League schools she'd applied to would be sent out near the end of the month; if all went well, she would be accepted to at least a few. Maybe more than that. Then she could start preparing for medical school. She had her whole life ahead of her, and a fair amount of it already planned out. She couldn't afford to do anything that might jeopardize that.

So she would just have to wait for this whole mutant _thing_ to blow over. And it would – she was sure of that. Everything did, given enough time. She just had to be patient. It would just take time.

She just had to keep telling herself that.

She told herself the same thing about Mel – that it was just a matter of time. The two of them had been low-key dating for almost a year now, but only in secret. Neither of them was ready to come out to their parents, their siblings, their _school_. But once they started college … well, maybe that would be the right time. Once they were away from their families. Once she was away from her church.

Then maybe she would be ready.

A knock at the door shook Liv from her thoughts. Liv waited a moment for someone else to answer the door, but her parents were at some church picnic, and her sister Claire was probably in her room listening to music. She probably hadn't even heard the door. So after the second knock, Liv made her way to the living room and opened the door.

A woman stood on the other side, smiling a little too broadly for Liv's liking. "Olivet Holle?"

Liv raised an eyebrow. Most people didn't use her full name. The stranger didn't look like any of the college scouts who had come to one of her races, and it would be odd for one to show up at her door on a Sunday anyway. "Yes," she answered at last. "Can I help you?"

"You certainly can. It's about your registration."

"My registration."

"Your mutation."

Liv closed the door behind her and glanced around, making sure none of the neighbors were around. "What about it?"

"Just a little extra information we need. I just need you to come with me, and we can get it all worked out."

Liv glanced at the van behind the stranger. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a few Sentinels down the road. Whatever this was about, it wasn't paperwork – that was clear. But it was just as clear that she didn't have a choice. One way or another, she was going.

So maybe it was best to play along for now.

* * *

 **Dr. Lillian Stowe, 58  
** **En Route to Calpet, WY**

 **14:56 MST**

Eventually, they wouldn't have to hide what they were doing.

Lillian shook her head as she leafed through her files one more time. That part hadn't been a lie; there _was_ a lot of paperwork involved. Some of the mutants surely knew better than to believe that was all that was going on, but enough of them had gone along with the idea, because it was what they wanted to believe. They wanted to think that this would just take a few hours of their time, and then it would all be done.

She couldn't remember who had fielded that idea last year – telling the mutants that all they wanted was some routine paperwork. Whoever's idea it was, things were certainly going more smoothly this year because of it. They only had a half hour left until they reached Calpet, and then most of her part in this would be over. Last year, she hadn't gotten in until after sunset, and at least one of her colleagues hadn't arrived until well after midnight.

Of course, the other factor that played into that was their choice of location. Instead of flying all the way to Alaska, they'd chosen a much more central location. Hopefully, that would mean the contestants wouldn't be nearly as exhausted in the morning. After all, they only had a few days before they would be fighting for their lives.

Not that they realized that yet. Or if they did, they were keeping it to themselves. The four mutants in the back of the plane hadn't said much, or they were talking too quietly for the microphones to pick them up. Not that it mattered much, really. They would all be filled in eventually, and if they figured it out a little early, there was no harm.

Lillian stretched her arms a little as the plane began its descent. Eventually, they would be able to be more open about what the mutants were being collected for. She wasn't sure exactly how that was going to work, but Mack would figure something out. He always did. If anyone could come up with a system that would keep mutants and their families from lashing out at people who came to collect them for a death match, it would be Mack.

Eventually, they would accept it as a part of life. For now, though, it was easier to lie. Easier to manipulate them into coming quietly. Easier to cause as little of a scene as possible, because that meant fewer witnesses who might figure out what was going on. And for the moment, they still had to hide what was going on.

For now.

But not for long. A few more years, perhaps, if things went according to plan. If Mack could successfully convince Congress to go along with his plan, most of the potential witnesses would be other mutants. And would humans really trust anything they had to say?

Maybe. People were gullible, yes, but they also had a penchant for conspiracy theories. There were already people who were speculating that last year's Games might not have been all that they appeared to be. Eventually, the truth would come out. Sooner or later, the would have to stop hiding.

She just hoped that when that moment came, people would realize that what they were doing was for the best. That humanity had to be protected. That the only way to do that was to keep the mutant population under control. And that, for the moment, the best way to control them was to convince them that they were outmatched. Outnumbered, yes, but also that they could easily be overpowered if it came to an actual fight. And what better way to do that than to show how easily mutants would turn on each other, when the time came.

It was a lie. Or at least, a half-truth. Yes, the mutant contestants would turn on each other, as last year's had. The lie was a lie of omission; they were blatantly ignoring the fact that humans in a similar situation would undoubtedly do the same thing. It was a lie, but it was a lie that the human population would want to believe. They wanted to believe that they were different from the mutants they saw on the television, that they were superior – if not in abilities, then by some sort of moral standard. Everyone wanted to claim the moral high ground, but the truth was – morally, at least – there wasn't much difference, if any, between their mutant contestants and their human counterparts.

But it was their job to hide that.

* * *

" _We can't hide from the world; we must live in it."_


	10. Believe

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Happy New Year! Sorry this one took so long, but this is the last of the collection chapters. Thank you to _Remus98_ , _Acereader55_ , _Little Knight Mik_ , and _twistedservice_ for Elio, Kylena, Manaka, and Henry, respectively.

* * *

 **Believe**

* * *

 **Dr. Alvin Mendelson, 61  
** **12:49 EST**

Belief was always hard to predict.

Alvin glanced around as the church slowly filled up for the 1:00 service. He hadn't meant to get such a late start, but his files had indicated that this was the most likely place to find the first mutant he was supposed to collect – on a Sunday, at least. Stupid idea, going around and collecting people on a Sunday. Most of the rest of the week, people stuck to a schedule. School. Work. Sports practice. The rest of the week was predictable. But Sunday? Anything could happen on a Sunday.

Apparently, 'anything' included a barbecue lunch before the afternoon service. It was the church's ten year anniversary – young as churches went, but that wasn't going to stop them from celebrating. And the barbecue chicken _had_ been good; it had seemed a shame to interrupt it. After that, people had funnelled their way back into the church, which made this an even _worse_ time for an interruption.

So he would just have to wait. Not a problem, really – especially on a full stomach. The congregation seemed nice enough; a few of them had even tried to make small talk over lunch. And they were either blissfully unaware that there was a young mutant in their midst, or they simply didn't care one way or the other.

He couldn't help wondering which it was. There didn't seem to be any clear pattern to how people responded – even people who claimed to profess the same beliefs. Some claimed that mutants were abominations in God's eyes, while others insisted that the very same God loved all of his creations, whether human or mutant or eagle or fox or … or whatever else. But which way people would choose to respond was difficult to predict in advance, based on their beliefs alone.

Maybe that was because the way people responded ultimately had very little to do with what they believed about their God, or Gods, or their Higher Power or Greater Authority. Instead, it had everything to do with what they believed about other people. Whether they believed that their fellow beings – whether human or mutant – were fundamentally good or fundamentally bad. Whether they were worthy of dignity and respect or whether they were fatally flawed and corrupt.

The trouble, of course, was that most people weren't simply one or the other. It wasn't that easy. There were no good guys and bad guys, no heroes and villains, no black and white. Most people were just … well, _people_. People trying to do their best to survive in a messy world where other people were _also_ people – beautiful and flawed and frustrating and unpredictable. Sometimes there was no telling what people would do.

On an individual level, at least. _Groups_ of people, however, were easier to predict. You couldn't always predict _which_ people would react a certain way, but given a large enough population, it was practically a guarantee that _someone_ would react in any way you might expect. If the whole congregation were suddenly alerted to the fact that there was a mutant in their midst, there would be _someone_ who would react with fear. Someone who would react with anger. Someone who would step forward and show some compassion. And the group, as a whole, would follow the strongest voices.

It was almost like clockwork.

No. No, it was more straightforward than clockwork. Clocks had loads of individual gears, all of which had to work perfectly in order for the mechanisms to behave as predicted. Groups of people, on the other hand, made up quite easily for any little gear that might be lacking, that might not behave as intended. People stepped in to fill roles as they were needed, rather than only fulfilling the one task they had been assigned.

Sometimes that was good; sometimes it was bad. It all depended on the task, really. During the Games last year, there had been a few contestants who hadn't behaved as needed. A few who had been unwilling to fight. But there had been enough who had been willing to step in and fill the roles that were needed for the Games to continue. One or two faulty gears hadn't been enough to stop the Games from proceeding.

There was no stopping it now. There was no stopping _any_ of it – not the Games, and not any of the consequences that were certain to follow. He had tried to warn them, done everything he could to stop them, but they'd plodded along, so certain that what they were doing was necessary, that it was _right_. Maybe in the end, he was just another one of those faulty gears, not behaving as expected but unable to change the course of the greater whole.

Alvin sighed and slouched back a little in one of the back pews. He could stall. He could dilly-dally here until someone decided to check up on him. Hell, he could probably cause quite a scene here if he insisted on collecting a mutant from a _church._ Sanctuary and sacred ground and all that. People would make a fuss, perhaps, but in the end … well, the end result would be the same. There was nothing he could do to _really_ change things.

And yet.

And yet he was still here. He was still playing his part, however small. Not because it mattered in the grand scheme of things, but because it might matter to _one_ person, right here and now. How he chose to handle matters here wouldn't affect the course of the Games or events that might follow, but they would affect one young boy's life. And maybe … well, maybe that was worth it.

Alvin adjusted his glasses as the words to the first song appeared on the screen at the front of the church. He'd gotten a few odd looks when he'd first arrived, but no one had asked about the glasses, or about the scar that they couldn't completely hide. Maybe they were being polite. Maybe it was easier not to ask, easier to make assumptions themselves. Or maybe it just didn't _matter_.

Maybe none of it did.

* * *

 **Elio Haines, 16  
** **Buffalo, NY**

 **14:52 EST**

He couldn't believe it had been almost two years.

Elio clasped Clay's hand tightly as the final song began. Two years since the light had first appeared to him. Two years since he had excitedly told his parents that God had appeared – right there, in front of him – not realizing, at first, everything that was a part of the gift he had been given. It was his parents who had immediately jumped to the truth, that he was a mutant. Before he'd even had time to process what was happening, he'd found himself on the streets with nothing but the clothes on his back and a backpack still full of school supplies and a half-eaten lunch.

 _Blessed be Your name  
_ _When I'm found in a desert place,  
_ _Though I walk through the wilderness,  
_ _Blessed be Your name._

For a few days, things had seemed hopeless. He'd spent two nights sleeping on the streets before Clay had found him, half-frozen inside a makeshift cardboard tent. Clay had helped him find a place at a shelter for homeless juveniles. Some of them, like him, had been thrown out of their homes. Some had run away. The reasons varied. Some had been driven from their homes because of their mutations, some because of their sexuality or gender identity, and some were escaping abuse. Everyone had a story, and some of them were far worse than his.

That was something to be grateful, at least. His parents had never abused him. They hadn't had time to between finding out about his mutation and kicking him to the curb. Since then, they'd contacted him exactly once, to let him know that they'd reported his mutant status to the government. That had been almost a year ago, shortly after the incident up in Alaska.

For the most part, however, things had been good. Clay had invited him to his church – First New Life Christian Church, a relatively new establishment. At first, they had only come on Sundays, but soon they'd started attending evening praise and worship sessions and Bible studies. It had been during one of those private Bible studies that they'd finally revealed how they felt about each other.

 _Blessed be Your name  
_ _When the sun's shining down on me,  
_ _When the world's all as it should be,  
_ _Blessed be Your name._

Elio gave Clay's hand another squeeze. Their church had been very supportive, and while he'd never made much of an effort to keep his bisexuality hidden, it was still refreshing to see them react so positively to them holding hands in church, to his tendency to wear rainbow shirts and a silver ear chain. In some way, he hoped he and Clay were setting a good example for other young people, showing them that it was okay to express themselves, that if the church really practiced what it preached when it came to love and tolerance, it would welcome them with open arms.

 _You give and take away.  
_ _You give and take away.  
_ _My heart will choose to say,  
_ _Lord, blessed be Your name._

Elio smiled as the last notes of the song faded from the guitars. Only when he and Clay turned to leave did he notice a man at the back of the church watching him. That wasn't unusual, really – not in and of itself. He and Clay still got looks from older members of the church, but most of the congregation was on the younger side. The man certainly stood out, dressed in a nice suit and tie and a pair of … sunglasses? No, just glasses, Elio decided after a moment – though the left side looked like sunglasses, the darkened tint hiding the eye beneath as the man drew closer. "Elio Haines?" he asked, his tone clearly that of someone who already knew the answer but was trying to be polite about it.

Elio nodded. "Yes?"

Clay took a protective step forward. "Can we help you?"

The stranger nodded. "My name's Alvin. If I could have a moment alone with Elio…"

Clay shook his head. "Whatever you have to say, you can say to both of us."

Elio nodded his agreement. "We don't have secrets from each other."

Alvin shrugged. "And the rest of the church?" People were trickling out of the church, but quite a few remained.

Elio crossed his arms. "Just spit it out. Whatever it is, we've heard it all."

Alvin raised an eyebrow. "I doubt that."

"Try me."

"The government knows about your mutation. I'm here to collect you."

"Collect me for what?"

"Something very unpleasant. If you have anyone else you'd like to say goodbye to, you should do it now. Regardless of what happens, you won't be coming back here."

Elio froze. That was _not_ what he'd been expecting at all. It was Clay who spoke up, a little too loudly for Elio's liking. "He's not going anywhere with you. You can't arrest someone in a church."

Elio's mind was racing. Was that even true? It certainly _sounded_ like something that should be true, but Alvin didn't look fazed. "This isn't an arrest. But you're right; I don't relish the idea of impeding on sacred ground. You could claim sanctuary, I suppose; I'll respect that. But I have to warn you that I'm not acting on my own. We all report to someone, and if I don't return with you, they'll send someone else. And they might not be as respectful."

Clay laid a hand on Elio's shoulder. Elio felt something on his other shoulder, and turned to see Pastor Damian behind him, nodding a little, letting Elio know that it was his call. Whatever he decided, he was certain they would back his play. A few others were standing behind them. But something about this wasn't adding up. Well, there were a _lot_ of things that weren't adding up, but one thing in particular. "Why didn't you just wait?"

"Pardon?"

"The service is over. Another few minutes, and I would have been outside. You could have avoided all of this fuss. So why not just wait?"

There was a hint of a smile on Alvin's lips. "I'm running a bit late as it is. Overslept a bit, decided to stay for lunch – delicious, by the way – and didn't realize the service was going to be _quite_ that long. Guess I just didn't want to wait much longer."

Elio shook his head. "You're not a good liar."

Alvin sighed. "So I've been told. So what's it going to be?"

Elio took a deep breath. That meant he hadn't been lying about the rest – about whoever he answered to sending someone else if he failed. Someone who might not care about who got hurt along the way. And if he had been telling the truth about him not coming back, then what he did next – the impression he left them with – mattered.

Elio turned to Clay and wrapped him in one last hug. Clay held him close – so close that, for a moment, Elio thought he might not be able to let go. When he did, there were tears in his eyes – tears that Elio could barely see through his own. He turned to Pastor Damian. "Thank you for … for what you would have done to protect me."

"We still will, if you—"

"No. But there'll be another time. This isn't over. Not really." He turned to Alvin. "Okay. Okay, let's get out of here." He took a deep breath.

"Before I change my mind."

* * *

 **Kylena Albright, 16  
** **Albany, NY**

 **17:04 EST**

"I can't believe you're done with your homework already."

Kylena giggled as she took a seat across from her older sister at the dinner table. "You can't have _that_ much left, can you?"

Nymeria groaned over-dramatically. "At least another three hours, and I haven't even _started_ on my essay yet. Just wait until you're a senior."

Kylena rolled her eyes. "When I'm a senior, I'll have the sense not to take AP Literature and AP Biology at the same time."

"They said it would look good on college applications," Nymeria insisted.

"Only if you _pass_." She was joking, of course. Nymeria had already been accepted to two of her top choices, including Scranton University back in Pennsylvania. She hadn't officially made a decision yet, but Kylena knew how badly she missed her friends back in Scranton. Neither of them had wanted to leave, but…

Kylena scooped a little more sauce onto her spaghetti, trying not to think about it. She hadn't wanted to leave, either. But if it hadn't been for her, they wouldn't have needed to. If she wasn't a mutant…

Of course, if she wasn't a mutant, she could have been seriously hurt. She had been crossing the road when the man on the bike had come out of nowhere. There had been no time to get out of the way; she'd simply put her hands up to block her face, hoping the impact wouldn't be too bad. But the impact never came. Her mother had helped her piece together what had happened – that the man and the bike had bounced off the bubble she'd created to protect herself.

She hadn't meant to. She hadn't even known she could do it. Her mother had rushed her inside, hoping the man on the bike – who was now on the ground, calling out in pain – wouldn't be able to recognize her. But that wasn't good enough. They had to be certain he wouldn't see her again, so their parents had moved across state lines, practically overnight, without any explanation. She'd never told Nymeria what had happened; her sister had no idea the sudden change had been her fault.

Part of her wanted to tell her, but mutants … well, the fewer people who knew she was one, the better, right? Her power was dangerous; that was what they would say. She _had_ hurt someone, after all. He was alive, yes, but she had _hurt_ him. Never mind that she hadn't meant to; that didn't seem to matter. Mutants were dangerous unless proven otherwise.

So she had kept her power a secret. She wasn't even supposed to practice with it, but sometimes … well, sometimes it was just too much to resist. She'd learned how to form smaller bubbles around objects, and she could make them float across the room, just by _thinking_. She hadn't been able to make a larger one, though – not since what had happened with the bike. And she hadn't even meant to do that. It had just been instinct.

Maybe that was the point, really. Maybe part of it was just instinct – an instinct that could only take over if she was really in danger. She would never have hurt anyone otherwise. She just hadn't wanted to get hit.

"Kylena?"

Kylena glanced over at her mother. "Yeah? Sorry. What'd you say?"

"I asked if you could pass the noodles," her mother repeated, and her father chuckled a little. How many times had she asked? "Are you all right?"

Kylena nodded. She was. They all were. And it was going to stay that way. All she had to do was make sure no one _saw_ her using her powers. She hadn't used them outside of her room since they'd moved to Albany. Okay, maybe _once_ , but that was only in the living room, and there hadn't been anyone else at home, and the remote had been on the other side of the room.

A sudden ring of the doorbell startled Kylena out of her thoughts. "Who could that be?" her father asked, glancing around the table at the other three. Clearly, no one had any idea who might be interrupting during dinnertime on a Sunday.

"Probably just Girl Scouts selling cookies," Kylena offered. She'd seen a troop at the mall the other day, so it was about that time of year. She got up and headed for the door.

The stranger on the other side, however, was definitely _not_ a Girl Scout. He was about sixty or so, tall and thin, but what caught her eye was the glasses – one side shaded to hide … something. But even the glasses couldn't quite hide the scars. Kylena looked away, trying not to stare. "Can I help you?"

"Kylena Albright?"

"Yes."

"My name's Alvin. I'm with the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board. I'm here to collect you."

Out of the corner of her eye, Kylena could see the rest of her family quickly getting out of their seats. "You can't take her!" her mother insisted. "She hasn't done anything."

"There has to be a mistake." Nymeria's voice was almost a laugh. "My sister's not a mutant. Tell him, Kylena."

Kylena swallowed hard. She wanted nothing more right now than to tell him that – and to have it be true. She'd heard rumors of mutants disappearing without a trace, collected by the government. They made a show of claiming it was only the dangerous ones, only the ones who posed a threat, but _anything_ could be a threat in the wrong hands. _Anyone_ could be dangerous.

Even her.

"Kylena?" The laughter in Nymeria's voice had been replaced with doubt. "You're not … Are you?"

Kylena took a deep breath. Then another. Instead of turning to look at her sister, she turned her gaze back to Alvin. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Personally? Nothing, I hope. But this next week or two … it's going to be rough."

Kylena couldn't hold back the tears in her eyes. "Why me? I didn't do anything. I didn't mean to. I … I didn't want any of this."

"I know. If you want to take a few moments to say goodbye—"

Kylena didn't hear the rest of the sentence. She turned and buried her face in her dad's shirt. Her parents' arms wrapped around her tightly. It wasn't until they finally let go that she realized Nymeria hadn't joined them. Kylena took a step towards her sister, but Nymeria backed away. "If you really are … what they say you are, then I'm sure this is for your own good."

"No," Alvin said flatly. "It's really not. And believe me, you do _not_ want those to be the last words you remember saying to your sister. So for your own sake, kid, say something kind."

Nymeria glared at him, but when she turned back to Kylena, her gaze softened a little. "I hope this guy's wrong. I hope that whatever they're about to do, it fixes what's wrong with you."

Kylena looked away. Maybe that was the best Nymeria could hope for at the moment, but she already knew it wasn't going to happen. No one was really interested in trying to help mutants – or even in 'fixing' them. They just wanted mutants gone – out of sight, out of mind.

But she couldn't tell her sister that. So she forced a smile through her tears and nodded. "I hope so, too." Then she turned and followed Alvin out the door.

"That was kind of you," Alvin offered as they reached a large van. "Maybe she'll realize that some day."

Some day. The rest of the words hung in the air, unspoken. _But you won't be there to see it._ Whatever was going on, she wasn't coming back.

It wasn't fair.

* * *

 **Manaka Shizue, 15  
** **Quincy, MA**

 **18:33 EST**

He couldn't believe what a beautiful day it was.

Manaka ruffled Mr. Wuffles' fur as the two of them set out for another lap around the park. There was still a bit of a chill in the air, but it wasn't nearly as cold as it had been last week. But it was still too cold for Mr. Wuffles' owner, Ms. Parsons, who was on a week-long vacation in California. When she'd offered to pay Manaka to watch her dog for her, he'd jumped at the chance. Anything that might help with this month's rent was a good thing.

Lei usually made enough to cover the rent, of course, but they were on a tight budget as far as anything else was concerned, and Manaka liked to feel like he was chipping in. He certainly owed it to Lei, after all. He'd taken Manaka under his wing and helped smuggle him out of Japan with forged papers, after discovering why he didn't want to stay.

It wasn't that he'd _wanted_ to leave his family – not really. He'd heard stories about some mutants whose families had turned on them when their powers had appeared. His family had never done anything of the sort. They didn't even know he was a mutant. _He_ hadn't known he was a mutant until he'd inadvertently used his power to protect his sister. A group of older boys had been harassing her when he'd happened by. Furious, he'd started attacking them, again and again. It was only after all three boys were bloody that he'd realized none of them had landed a punch. In fact, they'd barely moved, and his sister Noriko was staring at him as if paralyzed by fear – or maybe horror.

He hadn't been able to stand that look. He had run, as far and as fast as he could, before he'd collapsed, exhausted, under a bridge. He'd stayed there for a while before moving on to another city, and then another, and another. He never spent more than a week in the same place, terrified that someone would find him, recognize him, and bring him home. He couldn't face his family – not until he'd figured himself out. Not until he wasn't a danger to them anymore.

After six months of living on the streets, stealing what he needed and escaping because there was no one who could keep up with him when he used his power, Manaka had met Lei, who was studying abroad in Tokyo. Lei had offered him part of his lunch before he'd even had a chance to think about stealing it for himself, and Manaka, starved for human contact more than for food, had let that simple act of kindness overcome his fear. Sitting on a park bench with Lei, he had felt safe for the first time in months.

It was only later that he'd learned Lei was a mutant himself, with the power to control electricity. And it was Lei who had helped him slowly get a handle on his own power – which, as it turned out, had nothing to do with being fast and everything to do with slowing down _time_ around him. By the time Lei was ready to return to the United States, he was determined to take Manaka with him. It was careful work, forging his papers, bleaching his hair, helping him perfect his English, which had already been pretty good.

That had been about a year ago, and he'd never regretted the decision. There were still times he missed his family, when he wondered what might have happened if he'd stayed and tried to explain things to them, but at least this way, they were safe. And he was safe with Lei.

Suddenly, Mr. Wuffles gave a little tug on his leash. Manaka gladly picked up the pace a little. He would have liked to go quite a bit faster, but he'd learned early on that his power could only affect him. Or, perhaps more accurately, it slowed down everyone else, whether he wanted it to or not. He couldn't use it to get done with walking the dog a lot faster – and besides, it would be dangerous to try. There were too many people who might see him. He had always been careful – well, after that first time, at least. And as long as he was careful, he would be safe.

"Manaka Shizue?"

The voice caught him off-guard. There weren't many people in the park who knew him, and even fewer who would be using his full name. He made a point of keeping a low profile when he was out in public. Instinctively, he picked up his speed a little, and Mr. Wuffles padded along beside him. Maybe whoever was following him would just give up.

Instead, the footsteps behind him grew faster. "Look, kid," the voice continued. "Please don't run. I think we both know I won't be able to stop you, but this is going to be a lot easier on all of us if you just come with—"

Before the stranger could finish the sentence, Manaka turned and sprinted back the way he had come. Everyone else barely seemed to be moving at all. After a moment – a millisecond, really – Manaka realized it was a good thing he'd dropped Mr. Wuffles' leash, or else the dog might have choked from the collar suddenly being yanked in the opposite direction. As it was, he would just have to hope someone would return the dog to Ms. Parsons.

Because he couldn't go back. It wasn't safe anymore. Someone had found him – that much was clear from the stranger's claim that he wouldn't be able to stop him if he ran. Whoever this man was, he knew what Manaka could do. He knew he was a mutant. And that couldn't mean anything good.

Manaka sprinted through the crowd, down one street and then another. But he couldn't keep going forever. He had to come up with a plan. There had to be _somewhere_ he could go. Part of him wanted to go back home, to warn Lei. If they had found him, there was no way they didn't know about Lei, as well. But if he went back now, there was a good chance that he would just be leading them there. If they _didn't_ already know about Lei, then they would be sure to find out. He couldn't do that to Lei. He couldn't put him in danger.

But he had to go somewhere. He couldn't just keep running. He could already feel blood trickling down from his nose. Every time he tried to use his power too long, there were side effects. A dull throbbing was growing in the back of his head, working its way out towards his ears. He had to do _something_. If he couldn't keep running, then he had to find somewhere – _anywhere_ – to hide.

Okay. _Okay._ He could do that. Manaka turned and sprinted down the nearest alley. There was a large dumpster at the end. That would have to do. He dove inside as quickly and slammed the lid just as his hold slipped, snapping time back to normal. Manaka took a deep breath, leaning back against the pile of garbage, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to stop the headache that was steadily growing. He just had to wait. They wouldn't keep looking for him forever.

Would they?

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. He had no way of knowing. He didn't dare move – not even to lift the lid to see if it was still daylight. He had to be patient. He had to stay safe.

 _Tap._

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

Someone was tapping on the side of the dumpster. Manaka held his breath. Maybe it was just a little kid enjoying the sound, or an animal trying to get in. Okay, that second one wasn't really a good option, but it was better than—

"Manaka?" The voice outside was a bit muffled, or maybe just very tired. "Look, kid, this can go one of two ways. Either I can have the Sentinels seal up this dumpster, leave you enough air to breathe for the trip, and let you out of it once you're in a secure area … or you can promise not to run, and come with me now."

Manaka swallowed hard. "Okay," he said quietly. Then, a little louder, in case the man couldn't hear him, "Okay! I give up. Let me out."

The lid slid open, revealing a darkened alleyway. It was already nighttime. "Not a bad hiding place, really," the man admitted, offering Manaka a hand. "Surprising number of mutants hanging around this part of town. Took the Sentinels a while to lock onto the right one." He bent down and gave Mr. Wuffles' head a pat. "Mind telling me where he belongs? I didn't want to leave him at the park."

"His owner's out of town," Manaka said before thinking it through.

The stranger nodded. "Your place, then? Think Lei would mind taking over your job?"

"You're not—?"

"Taking him too? No." The stranger shook his head, giving Mr. Wuffles another rub.

"I think you're going to be enough of a handful."

* * *

 **Henry Helstrom, 14  
** **Exeter, RI**

 **22:14 EST**

They still couldn't believe how quiet Exeter was at night.

Henry glanced around once before sliding the last few feet down the drainpipe and out into the yard. It was certainly a lot quieter outside than in. Their newest foster father was yelling again. Henry wasn't quite sure _who_ he was yelling at this time, but at least it wasn't them. They'd managed to slip out their window without being noticed, and would slip back in once things calmed down a little. It was nothing they hadn't done a dozen times before.

Henry took a deep breath of the cool night air and headed down the street, which was occupied by nothing more than a few lampposts. Exeter was by far the smallest town they'd lived in, but they could deal with it until they got moved again. It happened every time. They'd just start to settle in a bit, and then something would come up. This two-year stint with the Wheelers was the longest they'd been in a foster home, but they knew better than to expect it would last. Nothing did.

Henry ran their fingers over their pocket, where their wallet held one of the only memories they had of their parents – a photo from their wedding day. If not for that photo, Henry probably wouldn't have remembered what they looked like; they'd died in a car accident when Henry was only three. Since then, Henry had spent a few months here, a year there, never really finding a place they would have wanted to stay even if they could. Some of their homes had been better, some worse, but none of them had quite been _right_.

Still, they were making do. They had a roof over their head, a mostly warm bed, and a foster family who didn't seem to care that they snuck out every now and then to wander around Exeter. Probably because there wasn't much mischief they could get into here, anyway.

Henry flicked their wrist a little as they passed a neighbor's garden, and a small clump of soil formed itself into a roughly humanoid shape and leapt into Henry's palm. It rested there for a moment before clambering up Henry's arm to perch on their shoulder. Henry stretched their arms and the golem did the same, a little dirt sprinkling down Henry's back as the golem's arm brushed up against their head.

Some part of them knew it wasn't safe to use their powers this openly. Their parents had never tried to _stop_ them from making little friends for themself, but had gently reminded them that it was safer to keep their friends a secret. Friends – that was how it had started out. The little creatures had been playmates when Henry hadn't had anyone else. Now … well, they didn't talk to the golems as often as they used to, but it was still nice to know that all it would take was a flick of their wrist or a snap of their fingers, and one would appear.

As long as the right sort of material was nearby, of course. Dirt was the easiest, but other materials would work in a pinch. Clay, rocks, twigs – pretty much any natural material. They'd tried once or twice with scrap metal and had managed to make it wriggle around a little, but that was all. Maybe with a little more practice…

And maybe practice was dangerous, but there was plenty of danger in just _being_ a mutant these days, whether they did anything with their power or not. They were going to be feared and rejected either way, once someone eventually found out. And it was only a matter of time, no matter what they did. So they might as well do as they pleased as long as they could.

Henry turned down the next road and crossed the street, not even bothering to look for cars. There were none to be seen in any direction. But as they drew closer to the nearest street light, they _could_ see a figure up ahead, headed straight for them. Henry snapped their fingers, and the golem slumped down into the hood of their sweatshirt, pressed snugly up against their back.

"Very nice," came a voice as the figure took a step closer. "I mean, if I hadn't _known_ what I was looking at, I would've assumed that was just a trick of the light or something, the way it just sort of melted away. Where'd it go? Is it hiding behind you, or did it just sort of crumble out of existence?"

Henry crossed their arms, putting on their most innocent look. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Might want to get your other eye checked out."

The stranger chuckled a little, shaking his head. "Look, kid. I've already had a long day, and I'm not looking forward to an equally long plane ride. So why don't we just skip the part where you deny being a mutant, I explain that I already _know_ you are, you try to run or hide or fight your way out of this, and it _doesn't work_. It's not _going_ to work. So what do you say we make this night a little shorter for both of us?"

Henry hesitated for a moment, clenching and unclenching their fists. Part of them wanted to do exactly what the stranger had suggested – trying to fight their way out. One of their larger golems could probably manage to keep the man occupied for a while. But he probably had backup. There were probably Sentinels lurking somewhere. They weren't going to get out of this. Finally, Henry nodded a little. "Okay."

The stranger stared blankly. "Okay?"

"Okay," Henry repeated. "Cards on the table." They plucked the little golem from the hood of their sweatshirt and tossed it to the stranger, who fumbled for a moment trying to catch it. "So I'm a mutant," Henry agreed. "What're you going to do about it?"

The stranger sighed a little as the golem leapt back down to the ground. "Unfortunately, kidnap you."

"What?" It was Henry's turn for a blank stare.

The stranger shrugged. "Look, you said 'cards on the table.' That's what's happening. My name is Alvin Mendelson. I'm a member of the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board. We're kidnapping mutants and bringing you to Wyoming. That's what's happening, and I'm too tired right now to sugarcoat it, and I'm sorry – _really_ sorry – but the sooner you come with me, the sooner we can all get some rest."

"Come with you … to Wyoming."

"That's right."

"Right now?"

"If there's someone you'd like to say goodbye to, we can swing by your house, but considering you're wandering about in the middle of the night…"

"They probably won't even notice I'm gone," Henry finished. "They'll assume someone dropped by to take me to another home, and that'll be that. And it might be easier on them if they assume that than if they know the truth. Is that pretty much it?"

Alvin nodded. "Pretty much dead on, yeah."

Henry sighed. "Terrific."

* * *

 **Dr. Alvin Mendelson, 61  
** **Calpet, WY**

 **March 16th, 01:59 MST**

"I can't believe you're the last one back again."

Alvin glanced over at Mack, who was standing outside the plane, shaking his head. Alvin rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he made his way down the steps. "Why not?"

"What?"

"Why can't you believe it? It would certainly seem to fit the pattern."

Mack shook his head. "I was just making conversation. I thought _I_ was going to be the last one, with the little detour I ended up taking."

"Detour?"

"No one told you?"

Alvin headed for the back of the plane. "Told me what?"

"About our two new additions. One's a pyrokinetic; the other's unlucky."

"Unlucky?" Alvin repeated, opening the door. "Welcome to Wyoming." The four kids piled out, stretching and rubbing their eyes – some from sleepiness, some from crying.

Mack shook his head. "Alvin." His tone was suddenly reproachful. "You forgot something."

"Didn't forget," Alvin corrected, opening his bag and producing four collars. "I was procrastinating. There's a difference." He handed one to each of the kids, glancing briefly at the numbers and letters on each before distributing them. "I'm afraid you're going to have to put these on."

"And if we don't?" Elio asked.

Henry rolled their eyes. "What do you _think_?" They slipped their collar on, and it gave a soft click as it closed. Kylena and Manaka quickly followed suit.

Elio shook his head. "What are you worried I'm going to do? Pray my way out of here? Heal you to death?"

Mack shrugged. "Right now, it's more about equality. Some of you probably don't need them, but some of you do. And it wouldn't be fair to treat you differently just because you're not as obvious of a threat."

"You've got no business talking about equality," Elio mumbled, but he slipped his collar on anyway as Alvin led them towards the nearest building.

Inside, he showed each of them to a room – a room that he had to admit was certainly nicer than the ones they'd used to house their contestants the previous year. Those had been little more than cells, with only a cot for sleeping and not much room otherwise. These were at least _rooms_ , with carpet on the floor and a real bed in the corner. They each had a mirror, a small closet with a few changes of clothes, a sink with a toothbrush and toothpaste, and a draped-off section of the room that held a toilet. Maybe it wasn't much, but it was certainly better than last year, and probably better than what most of them had been expecting.

And that was the worst part, really – that they had probably been expecting worse. That as long as they met the barest standards of decency, they could tell themselves that at least they were treating their contestants like people rather than animals. They could lie to themselves about what they were really doing here, and, by extension, about what their newest victims probably thought of them.

He'd never been a very good liar.

Alvin turned to Mack as the last door closed. "What's with the different colors?"

"Pardon?"

"The colors – the sheets, the clothes, even the toothbrushes. They were all different colors. Everything in Henry's room was purple, Manaka's was red, Elio's was yellow, and Kylena's was blue. Any particular reason?"

Of course there was a reason. There was always a reason. Everything Mack had prepared for the Games was carefully calculated; it was just a matter of _what_ the reason was. Mack cocked his head a little. "I guess you did get one of each, didn't you."

"One of each?"

"One contestant who's working with each of the coaches."

Alvin yawned. It was taking the facts a little while to slide into place while his brain was screaming for sleep, but they'd finally made their way there. "You color-coded them by which coach they're working with? Why?"

"Why not?"

"Because it doesn't make any sense – dressing them up like they're teams. They're not teams. They just happened to end up with those coaches. It doesn't mean anything."

"Of course it doesn't – unless they think it does. Unless they start to group themselves based on it."

"They won't."

"Not yet. Not this year, and probably not the next. But once there are more of them…"

"More contestants? You don't think thirty is enough?"

"Not more contestants – more _coaches_. A few more years, and we'll have plenty."

"Plenty?"

Mack shrugged. "Twelve should do nicely."

 _Oh._ So that was where he was going. "These camps you're setting up—"

" _Colonies_ , Alvin."

"Camps," Alvin repeated. "You want to treat _them_ like different teams, have them compete against each other based on whatever camp they ended up in."

"Yes."

It wasn't a bad idea. Well, strictly speaking, it probably _was_ a bad idea, but it wasn't an unreasonable idea. It fit nicely in with everything else Mack was trying to do, everything else he wanted the Games to be. If he could find a way to pit mutants against each other, they wouldn't have to worry as much about the mutants banding together to turn against _them._ If Mack was lucky, it might even work for a while.

For a while. But not forever. People – human or mutant – weren't that quick to forget who the real enemy was. And whether he wanted to admit it or not, Mack was playing right into the public perception that humans and mutants were natural enemies. That in order for one to survive, the other had to be controlled. Or if not controlled, then at least contained.

Alvin sighed. In his experience, life – _any_ form of life – simply wasn't that easy to contain. People, whether human or mutant, simply couldn't be controlled forever. They always found a way out of things, around things, or _through_ things. They wriggled out of tight spaces and crashed through barriers that got in their way. Eventually, there was always a way out.

Eventually. That was the problem, really. Mack and the others – they weren't thinking that far ahead. They were worried about the next few years, or perhaps the next decade. And for that amount of time, what they were planning would work. In fact, it would probably work very well.

It would probably work _too_ well. Well enough to come back and bite them once the consequences started to appear – consequences they hadn't bothered to worry about because they were too focused on whether things were going to work here and now. He'd tried to warn them. He really had. But as clever and curious and imaginative as people were, they were also incredibly, inescapably stubborn. Once they were convinced they were right, that what they were doing would work, it was nearly impossible to dissuade them.

And that went for humans and mutants alike.

Most things did, in the end. Sure, the two groups had their differences, but they were fundamentally equal when it came to anything that really mattered. Anything that made humans _human_ – anything that separated them from the birds and the bees and even the apes – mutants shared. Their hopes, their fears, their dreams, their commitment, their stubborn _need_ to be right, and to prove that they were right – all those things belonged to both groups, whether the 'other side' wanted to admit it or not.

Alvin sighed. It was too late for all of this – or too early. He needed some sleep; they all did. Tomorrow was going to be another long day – and the next, and the next. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. But not forever. Eventually, they would run out of tomorrows. It was only a matter of time before all of this fell apart.

And he didn't want to know what might come next.

* * *

" _I understand your words; I simply do not believe them."_


	11. Wrong

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** And here's the first of our Pre-Games chapters. No train rides, so what's happening here is three chapters of pre-training stuff that's taking the place of train rides and chariot parade. Each tribute will get a POV in either this chapter or one of the next two, so if you don't see yours here, don't worry; they'll get their time in the spotlight. After that will be training. Right now, my plan is to stick with the 6-chapter, 10 tributes per chapter format I used last time, which gives each tribute two POVs during training. Seems like a lot, but when you consider the fact that private sessions, training scores, and interviews aren't a thing (yet), it evens itself out, and the Games sneak up pretty quickly.

On that note, off we go...

* * *

 **Wrong**

* * *

 **March 16th, 04:42 MST  
** **Calpet, WY**

* * *

 **Nicholas Wright, 64**

There were so many ways this could go wrong.

Nicholas pinched the bridge of his nose as he stared at the paper in front of him. There wasn't much on it, but what _was_ there was enough. Enough to cause problems, certainly. Maybe even an international incident – something they couldn't afford right now. It might even be enough to bring the Games to a halt, if the right people found out.

Nicholas glanced up at Mack, who was still standing there, waiting. Waiting for Nicholas to scold him, perhaps. Maybe even to start shouting. But Nicholas simply shook his head, letting it sink in. He'd signed off on this, after all. He hadn't known everything, but chances were good that Mack hadn't, either. And losing his temper wouldn't solve their problem. "Did you know?" he asked at last.

Mack shook his head. "No. I swear I didn't. I knew Senator Hughes came here from Canada, of course, but I had no idea his children were still Canadian citizens. Most of the year, they live with their mother, but I never thought to ask where _she_ lived."

"Ontario, it would seem," Nicholas muttered. "I suppose it's too late to simply send him home?"

"Too late to do so without answering unwanted questions, yes," Mack agreed. "There's no solution now where everything works out nicely. That ship has sailed. At least a few of them have probably figured out what's really going on, and if he's one of them, or he's talked to _any_ of them, then word gets out as soon as he gets back home – whether that's Texas or Canada."

"All right," Nicholas agreed. "So how do we spin this?"

"I'm working on it."

That was all he could ask for, really. Mack had been blindsided by this just as much as he had. "All right, then," he agreed. "Time to let our coaches know what they'll be dealing with, I suppose."

"Sir?"

"There's a lot they haven't prepared for. A lot _we_ haven't had the chance to prepare for. We've got a matter of days before everything has to be ready, so we'd better get to it." He shook his head.

"We can't afford to let anything go wrong."

* * *

 **Ian Viera, 23**

Something had already gone wrong.

Ian glanced around at the faces in front of him – his fellow coaches, and two members of the MAAB. Mack looked the most alert, but Ian could tell that even he thought it was way too early in the morning. Ian said nothing. He'd always been a morning person himself – and an evening person, and a night person. Since he didn't sleep, one time of day was pretty much the same as any other. He'd learned in school, of course, about a concept called the circadian rhythm, but as far as he could tell, he essentially didn't have one.

Maybe that gave him an advantage.

Ian shook the thought from his head. He didn't _need_ an advantage, because he wasn't competing with anyone else in the room. These were his friends. Well, except Alvin and Mack, but the other _coaches_ … they weren't the competition. They were friends he'd worked with for years. Or at least, Maria and Vincent were. And Penelope … in the year since her Games, they'd all gotten to know her pretty well. He certainly didn't see her as the competition.

Because that was what the MAAB wanted – to turn them against each other. None of them had said so explicitly, but they didn't need to. The different colors, the sense that each of them was leading a 'team' of mutants rather than individual competitors. But it was all an act. No matter how well any of them worked together as a team, only two of the contestants were making it out of the Games alive.

Ian shook the thought from his head. They were a long way from that yet. Right now, Alvin was passing around another sheet of paper. "I added another time slot at the end of the days," he explained, barely holding back a yawn.

Penelope raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because two of you are going to need it. We picked up a couple of extra contestants."

"And you didn't think it was a good idea to tell us until now?" Ian asked.

Alvin shook his head. "Don't shoot the messenger. I found out three hours ago. Thought I'd let you – or most of you, at least – get a bit more sleep before I broke the news."

Penelope nodded crisply. "What do we know about them?"

Ian couldn't help a smile. Down to business, and never mind how they got there. Exactly what he'd come to expect from Penelope. Alvin tossed two conspicuously thin files on the table. "Not a whole lot, but we're working on it." He nodded at one of the files. "He's a pyrokinetic."

Maria's hand flicked up a little. "I got him."

Alvin nodded. "There's something else."

Ian scanned the file quickly. "The fact that he's Canadian?"

"Yeah. Mack's working on how to spin that, and it's not really your problem, but you'd have found out eventually." He nodded at the other file. "The other kid's unlucky."

"Aren't we all," Vincent muttered, but he was already glancing through the razor-thin file. Something apparently caught his eye. "He volunteered for this."

Alvin shrugged. "He didn't know exactly _what_ he was volunteering for, of course. He saw a chance to gain control of his mutation; he saw how the collars work. Understandably, for someone with his particular talent, he doesn't tend to see his mutation as a gift."

"He saw what he thought was a chance to improve his life, and he took it, without fully realizing what that meant," Vincent agreed. "And you took advantage."

Alvin opened his mouth to object, but Mack nodded. "We did. And if you play your cards right, so can you."

"We're not going to—" Ian started.

But Vincent was already gathering up the file. "I'll take him."

"You sure?" Ian asked. "I could—"

"I'm sure. Trust me."

Ian hesitated. He did. He did trust Vincent. He had to. The moment they started to doubt each other was the moment the MAAB won. "Okay," he agreed, turning back to Alvin. "Any other surprises we should know about?"

Alvin sighed. "Unfortunately, yes. We were under the impression – as were you – that both Kenji and Manaka's mutations were advanced speed. They're not. They're chronokinetics."

Ian blinked. " _Both_ of them?"

"Yeah."

"That makes three."

"Yeah."

"Is that a good idea?"

Alvin shook his head. "Absolutely not. Any more questions?"

Ian held his tongue. He had plenty of questions, but most of them started with, 'Who thought it would be a good idea to…' And he knew the answer to that. They _hadn't_ thought. They hadn't really thought this through – any of it. They were more prepared than the year before, it was true, but they had also taken on more than the year before. More unpredictable contestants. More training. A bigger arena. He couldn't help but wonder if they'd bitten off more than they could chew. Clearly, enough of the board thought they could still handle it.

But there was a part of him that hoped they were wrong.

* * *

 **Liv Holle, 18**

She woke up in the wrong bed.

Liv rolled over a little, nearly falling off the bed. It was smaller than her bed at home, the mattress thinner, the pillow almost non-existent. Funny, how she hadn't really noticed the night before. By the time they'd arrived, she'd been too tired to worry about anything but getting some rest before … whatever was about to happen. She wasn't sure what to expect, but it couldn't be good.

There were clothes laid out on the end of the bed – a deep purple jumpsuit, socks, and headband, along with a pair of white sneakers. A hairbrush, deodorant, toothbrush, and toothpaste had been set out on a small end table. A curtain in the corner hid a toilet, a sink, and a small mirror. Liv ran her fingers along the collar around her neck. A quick glance in the mirror revealed a letter and a few numbers etched in the collar – V-0204.

Liv's stomach churned. They were doing their best to disguise it with the colorful clothes, the livable room, the fact that the collar was plastic rather than metal. But the fact was, she was a prisoner. They'd taken her – and God only knew how many others – because she was a mutant. She had never hurt anyone. She hadn't done anything.

But that hadn't mattered.

 _Okay._ Okay, first things first. She brushed her teeth and her hair, then changed into the purple outfit. It was a bit baggy and certainly not very flattering, but at least it was clean. Liv shook her head as she pulled her hair back with the headband. Clean clothes, a bed, and some bare minimums of privacy. What was that all about? An attempt to lull them into thinking that they weren't actually prisoners here? A reminder that things could be worse? Maybe they could, but that wasn't the point. The fact that things could be worse didn't mean that they weren't bad _now_.

A rap on the door shook Liv from her thoughts. After only a second, the door swung open, revealing a woman in her thirties or so. "Ah, you're already up. Excellent. Breakfast is that way." She pointed down the hall, then headed to the next door before Liv could get a word out. Liv watched as she rapped on door after door. Muffled voices came from a few of them, but it seemed like most of the others had still been asleep.

Liv glanced down the hallway in the direction the woman had indicated breakfast would be. It seemed completely empty. No guards. No Sentinels. What was to stop her from running, from trying to get away?

Liv took a few steps down the hallway, but she didn't run. It was tempting, but it was also pointless. Maybe there weren't guards here, but they were undoubtedly somewhere. And even if she somehow found a way out of the building, it was probably locked. And even if it wasn't, she had no idea where she was, or where to go once she got out. It had been dark when they'd arrived, and she hadn't gotten a good look around, but she was pretty sure there had been mountains in the distance – or something with a similar looming shape. There had been no town, no sign of buildings except for this one, nowhere for her to go to hide.

At the end of the hall was a large room – a cafeteria, from the look of it. Four tables, long and rectangular, stood in a row. One was covered in a red tablecloth, one in yellow, one in blue, and one in purple. _Okay, then._ On one side of the room was another table, this one draped in a black cloth and covered with food. Fruit, cereal, bagels, donuts. Apple juice, orange juice, milk, coffee. Nothing extravagant, but more than she'd been expecting.

Did that mean it was working?

Liv shook her head, chose a banana, a bowl of the least sugary cereal she could spot, and a glass of orange juice. Then she took a seat at the table with the purple cloth, choosing a position with a good view of the door. A few others were beginning to make their way down the hallway. A quick count of the chairs in the room revealed thirty.

Was that how many of them there were?

* * *

 **Caihong Lee, 25**

He'd never seen so many mutants in one place.

Lee took a seat at the blue table, watching as one person after another filtered in. Most of them seemed younger than him – some quite a bit younger – and they were dressed in different colors to match the four tables, but all of them wore identical collars that marked them as mutants. A couple had tried to hide the collars with the headbands they'd been given, but they seemed to relax a bit once they realized that everyone else was wearing one, as well. In a way, that made them equal. Equally _powerless_ , maybe, but equal nonetheless.

Most of them had taken advantage of the breakfast table. A few had decided not to – either because they were too scared to be hungry or out of some sense that starving themselves meant they were defying their captors. Lee took another bite of the donut he'd chosen, warming his hands with the cup of coffee. There was no harm in eating, was there?

"Lee, right?" a voice asked, and a girl took a seat beside him. "We met on the plane."

Lee nodded. He hadn't been in much of a mood to talk then. Still wasn't, really, but the girl didn't seem deterred. "I'm Elena. Any idea what's going on?"

Lee shrugged. "Only what we were told – that there was breakfast down here." He hid a smile as Elena poured three sugar packets into her coffee. "I suppose they'll have to tell us what's going on eventually. Maybe ignorance is bliss, though."

Elena shook her head. "I'd rather know what's going on – better or worse."

"They're probably waiting until we're all here," Lee pointed out, nodding towards the door, where a few more mutants were still trickling in. The tables were nearly full, but a few of the others – a girl in blue and a boy in yellow – were stubbornly standing by the breakfast table, refusing to take their seats.

Finally, the last few mutants entered, followed by an older man in a suit, several other official-looking people, and then four more mutants – three of them around his age, by the look of them, the other a younger girl. Each wore a jumpsuit matching one of the table's colors. The one in yellow took a step forward, addressing the room. "Good morning. My name is Ian. This is Vincent, Maria, and—"

"Penelope," finished a boy a few seats away from Lee. He shook his head. "You're Penelope. Last year – the experiment up in Alaska—"

The younger girl took a step forward beside Ian. "You're right, Marcus. Very observant. But it wasn't exactly an experiment – not in the way most people thought, at least. Thirty of us were chosen last year, taken to Alaska, and instructed that what was about to happen was a fight to the death." She glanced around the room. "Just like you."

Lee froze. Maybe it shouldn't have come as a surprise. With the government's attitude towards mutants, the idea of rounding them up and forcing them to fight to the death wasn't all that far-fetched. There had been rumors – rumors he'd dismissed as wild conspiracy theories – that that was what had happened in Alaska. But the idea that they would pick _him_ for something like that – that was ridiculous. Penelope's power had led to the destruction of an entire island. His wasn't anything like _that_.

He didn't deserve this.

No. No, it wasn't about whether he _deserved_ it. None of them did, after all. As far as he could tell, most of the other mutants in the room were just as surprised as he was. They'd probably been plucked out of normal, everyday lives, just like him. None of them _deserved_ it. But what chance did he have if some of their powers were anything like Penelope's?

"I know it's a lot to take in," the woman in blue, Maria, was saying. "But the four of us are here to answer your questions and help you out as much as we can. And there's something else you should know." She glanced at Penelope, who nodded. "Penelope survived last year, but she wasn't the only one. Two of them made it off that island alive – Penelope and another contestant named Piper. There were two survivors – and the same rules apply this year."

Lee let that sink in. Many of the other mutants were already glancing around the room, wondering the same thing he was. If _two_ of them could survive, then maybe he had a chance, after all. If he was going to survive, he needed to find someone who could help keep him alive. Someone with a power that was a bit more … well, useful for fighting. Lee took a deep breath as Maria kept talking.

At least he wouldn't have to do this alone.

* * *

 **Marcus Del Rio, 19**

At least he wouldn't be alone.

Marcus stared straight ahead as Maria continued. "The Games begin on Friday. That gives you four days to prepare. Individual training will begin tomorrow. You'll each be working with one of us to help you learn to use your powers in a way that will be most beneficial to you in the Games."

There was a bit of murmuring from the mutants at the red table – maybe a little confusion about the fact that Penelope was so much younger than the others. But Marcus knew better, as would anyone else who had actually bothered to watch what had happened the year before. Penelope knew _exactly_ what she was doing. If anything, her contestants might have a bit of an advantage…

"We've set up a schedule with one-hour time slots for each of you," Maria continued. "You're welcome to bring other contestants along to your session – or to accompany them to theirs – if you've decided to work together."

There it was. No one had said it yet, but it was the obvious consequence of allowing two of them to survive. No one would want to go it alone when everyone else would be teaming up with _someone_ , at least. He just had to find the right person. Or people. Two of them could _survive_ , but there was no rule – none he'd heard yet, at least – saying more than that couldn't work together for a while. There had been a few larger groups the year before.

Marcus leaned back in his chair, wishing he'd paid a bit more attention to exactly what had happened. He remembered Penelope, of course. It would be hard to forget a mutant who could single-handedly destroy an island. But she had been working with someone else for a while, hadn't she? Quite a few of them had.

"Today's focus is more on mental preparation," Ian explained. "Take some time to let it sink in, consider your options, form a strategy. Feel free to mingle with the other contestants. Meals will be provided, and snacks will be available throughout the day. There's a table over there with pencils and postcards if you'd like to write a letter to someone. Family, friends, anyone you like. Just be warned that the letters _will_ be screened, and if there's any mention of the fact that you're being _forced_ into this … experiment, they won't be delivered.

"As some of you have probably decided by now, you might want to figure out who would make a good teammate in the Games. To help you decide, there will be a gathering tonight where all of you will have the opportunity to demonstrate your abilities if you'd like. Participating is voluntary, and—"

"A talent show?" a voice from the purple table asked skeptically. "You want us to show off exactly what we can do so everybody knows our weaknesses?"

"And _that_ is why participation is voluntary," Penelope agreed. "You're right, Iola; there are advantages and disadvantages either way. Demonstrating your abilities gives away an element of surprise, but it might also draw in people whose powers are compatible with yours and help you form a stronger team early on. The sooner you start training together as a team, the more experience you'll get working with each other. On the other hand, there are various reasons you might not want to let others know what you can do."

"What did you do?" Marcus blurted out before he could stop himself. He wasn't thinking straight. He was used to having more _time_ to think. Under normal circumstances, he would have slowed time down by now, trying to give himself more time to react. But with this damn collar on…

Penelope didn't seem to mind the question, though. "I didn't have the opportunity. This is something we've added this year. That part of the official story is true – this _is_ a bit of an experiment. This is only our second time doing this, so there are still kinks we're working out, things we've added, things we've changed." She shook her head. "Given the choice, though, I think I would have participated. But that doesn't necessarily mean that you should. Think about it. Weigh the options. Decide for yourself."

Marcus nodded along. She was right. There were good arguments to be made both ways. And it might take some of the others a while to decide.

But he'd already made his choice.

* * *

 **Evelyn Hong, 17**

There wasn't much of a choice.

Evelyn nodded along as the mutants at the front of the room continued to explain their options for the day – which seemed to consist mostly of sitting around and thinking about what a terrible situation they were in. She wanted to be _doing_ something. Yes, this was terrible, but sitting around and thinking about it wasn't going to make it any better. And as far as deciding whether or not to show off her abilities … Well, that was what she'd always wanted, wasn't it? To be able to show what she could do, and not have her parents worrying that it might get her targeted.

There was no reason to worry about that now. She'd _already_ been targeted. She was already here. This was the worst that could happen, and it was already happening. There wasn't a good reason _not_ to be honest about what she could do.

"We're aware that leaves you a lot of free time," Ian was saying. "The four of us will do our best, but we can only be in so many places at once. Which is why several members of the MAAB have volunteered to provide additional training, particularly in areas where your own abilities might not be as useful." He nodded to the people standing behind the four of them.

A man took a step forward. "I'm Colonel Judah Burgess. I'll be providing instruction in hand-to-hand combat for anyone who's interested. Even if your power is something fiercely impressive, you might still find yourself in a situation where you have to fight – with or without an actual weapon. I'll be helping you prepare for that."

"I'm Dr. Anita Donahue," said the woman beside him. "I'll be offering instruction on first aid and the basics of treating injuries. No matter how careful you are, the chances of you coming out of this without a scrape are pretty slim, and knowing how to treat an injury could be the difference between life and death. Either Judah or I can also help you with some of the basics of surviving in the wild – how to start a fire, boil water, and so on."

The man on the end gave a little wave. "I'm Alvin. Any questions you have that don't fit in any of those categories, you can go to either me or Nicholas." He indicated the man on the other end. "But let's be honest; you're probably coming to me. Nicholas is a busy man; I just make sure that things run. Anything miscellaneous. You run out of pencils, want more lettuce on the salad bar, think your jumpsuit needs more pockets, want to know how you're supposed to change into a bear if your collar is too tight – that comes to me. Or if you have any math questions, which is what I'm _actually_ here for. Probability, statistics, game theory – all that wonderful stuff that everyone complains they'll never use until they need _someone_ to come in and fix the mess they've made because they don't know what they're doing." He shrugged. "Any numbers you need crunched, I'm your man."

Evelyn giggled nervously. She couldn't help it. The idea that anyone would have a _math_ question in the middle of all of this was funny. She immediately stopped as the rest of the room turned to face her, but Alvin smiled. "There we go. I was hoping for a laugh. Diffuse the tension and all that. Anybody got any questions right away?"

Evelyn raised her hand before realizing she probably didn't need to. "What's with the Hogwarts tables?"

This time, there were a few more chuckles, and Maria was smiling a little as she answered. "The tables are color-coded to match which of us you'll be working with, but aside from that, it doesn't mean anything. They're just colors. Feel free to work with anyone regardless of color group. The two survivors can be any combination of colors, and there might even be a bit of an advantage to choosing to work with someone who has a _different_ coach, because then you get to train with more than one of us, get a different perspective on things." She flashed Evelyn a smile. "And incidentally, if they _were_ Hogwarts houses, that table would be green, not purple."

Evelyn smirked. "Yep, you're a Ravenclaw."

* * *

 **Lea Cervantes, 18**

They were actually smiling.

Lea shook her head as she glanced around the room. A few of them were smiling, chuckling along. Not many of them, but enough. A few of them was enough. They only needed a few who were willing to go along with this, who thought it was a joke, a _game_ , in order for it to succeed. Clearly, it had worked last year. And it was well on its way to working this year, unless—

"You think this is _funny_?" a voice demanded. "Did you hear anything they just said? They expect us to kill each other, and you're sitting here laughing about it like they invited us to play a game of football. What are you _thinking_?" The boy beside her in the back of the room shook his head, disgusted.

"He's right," Lea agreed, a bit ashamed she hadn't been the first one to speak up. "This isn't a joke, and it's not a game. And we _don't_ have to play into it." She took a step closer to the boy in yellow, her arms crossed. "We don't have to do this. None of us do."

"You're right," came a voice from the front. Vincent, the only coach who hadn't spoken up yet. For a moment, Lea's heart leapt. If one of the coaches agreed with them, then maybe they had a chance. But Vincent shook his head. "You're right; there's always a choice. You could always choose to die, instead."

Lea could feel her face flush. Those weren't the only two options. They _couldn't_ be. "But if _none_ of us fight—" the boy beside her began.

Vincent shook his head. " _None_ of you? Look around, Elio. Look around, Lea. Can you honestly tell me you don't think _any_ of these people will fight? Because that's what it would take – _all_ of you. And looking around, I see—"

"You don't know us," Lea interrupted. "You don't know any of these people."

"That's where you're wrong, Lea. _You_ don't know them. _You_ don't know anything about them. We, on the other hand, have information on almost all of you. Some of you aren't fighters, it's true. But some of you are. And all it takes is _some_."

"Just because everybody last year was ready to fight—"

"They weren't. Not all of them. There were a few who chose not to. But the fact that you didn't know that – the fact that none of you _remember_ that – is the point. If you want to refuse to fight, that's your choice. All I'm saying is that you can't count on everyone else making the same choice."

Lea fell silent. He wasn't saying anything she hadn't already known. They didn't need everyone to cooperate in order to make the Games work. A few would be enough to get things rolling, and once they started…

Then what? If push came to shove – and it almost certainly would – would she fight? If someone was attacking her, was she really going to refuse to fight back on principle? Lea swallowed hard. Maybe that would be the _right_ thing to do. But if doing the right thing was going to get her killed…

But there was a pretty good chance she was going to die anyway. And if she _was_ going to die, wasn't it better to die a hero? A martyr? That was what the sisters would say, she was sure. Better to die than to fall into sin, and killing … well, there wasn't exactly a bigger sin than that. Soldiers killed, yes, but this wasn't a war. The other kids in the room – they weren't her enemy. They weren't _anyone's_ enemy. They just wanted to live.

But only two of them were going to.

Unless…

Lea took a step closer to the boy – apparently Elio – and turned to face the room. "You can count on _me_ making that choice," she said firmly. "How about you, Elio."

Elio nodded and held out his hand. "Count me in." Lea shook it, then quickly scanned the room.

"Anyone else?"

* * *

 **Kenji Rose, 12**

"Anyone else?"

The words hung in the air as they all waited. Kenji held his breath, waiting along with the rest of them. It would have been different, maybe, if a few of the others had jumped up immediately. If more people had started joining in. But everyone seemed to be waiting for someone else to make the first move. And no one did.

He wanted to. He really did. He wanted nothing more than to promise not to hurt anyone, and to be sure that no one else would hurt him. He wanted the whole room to leap to their feet and agree not to kill each other. But that hadn't happened. And it wasn't _going_ to happen.

After a few moments, Vincent seemed to take the silence as confirmation that there wasn't going to be a mass revolt. "All right, then," he nodded. "That's that."

The girl's face was beet red. "If you change your minds, we'll be right here," she said, addressing the room as a whole. Kenji looked around. Some people had turned back to their breakfast. Most of the adults at the front of the room were leaving. But the coaches stayed, along with the man who had introduced himself as Alvin.

Coaches. That was what they had said, but he'd heard enough of his siblings' stories to know who they really were. It wasn't something they would want to advertise, maybe, and certainly not something that would mean anything to most of the others, but…

Slowly, Kenji got up and made his way towards the nearest one. Maria was already heading towards him, and wrapped an arm gently around his shoulders. Ian wasn't far behind. "Kenji, I … we're really sorry."

Kenji shook his head. This wasn't their fault. "How did you guys get here? What happened at the school? All they told us was that there was a raid, and some people from the government came to tell us they'd … they'd collected out mother's body for testing, but Isamu and Nami … they didn't say anything about them. Do you know what happened? Did they get away?"

Ian shook his head. "I wish we had some answers for you. Your mother was outside, fighting, trying to give the students time to get away. Some of them did, but we don't know who, or how many. Isamu and Nami's bodies weren't collected, but the Sentinels … they don't always leave bodies."

"But they could have gotten away," Maria added with a pointed look at Ian. "We don't know. We were inside, destroying all the records we could. We didn't want to leave anything that might lead the government to … well, to kids like you, not to put too fine a point on it. But once they found Vivian's body, it wasn't hard for them to locate you."

Kenji nodded, fighting back tears. For a moment, he had thought he might get some answers, but at least they couldn't say for certain that his brother and sister were dead. "What about you?" he asked. "How did you end up here?"

"One of the reasons the Sentinels came that night was to eliminate the X-Men," Maria explained. "Another was to retrieve some suitable coaches for this little … experiment. Given the nature of our abilities and the fact that we were inside rather than outside with the others, we were some of the easier ones to get ahold of alive."

Kenji nodded. Their powers were definitely cool, but not exactly the most useful in a fight. Ian didn't need to sleep. Maria could breathe underwater. And Vincent…

Kenji glanced over at Vincent, who was still standing in the far corner, watching the others as they began to interact, to talk things over, to form themselves into little groups. For a moment, his eyes found Kenji, but he looked away almost immediately. "What Vincent said to those other two – Elio and Lea – that was…"

"The truth," Ian finished. "He could have put it more delicately, but that doesn't make it any less true. This is happening, Kenji."

"But if more people had joined in—"

"But they didn't," Ian finished. " _You_ didn't. And not because you're weak or cruel or a bad person, Kenji, but because you want to _live_. There's no shame in that."

"He's right, you know," came a voice from behind them. Kenji turned to see a girl in yellow watching them. "Given the choice between dying together and surviving alone, most people will choose the latter. It's human nature … well, and mutant nature, I suppose." She cocked her head, studying him, then blinked slowly. Almost unnervingly slowly.

"Did you say your mother's name was Vivian?"

* * *

 **Florence Roos, 114**

She already knew the answer.

Florence watched the boy's face as he searched for the right words. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop. It was just that she was used to hearing so much _more_. In a room with this many people, she would normally hear every nervous breath, every beat of a heart as it pumped blood through veins and arteries, every drop of sweat as it dripped to the floor. It wasn't even something she thought about anymore. It was just _there_ , that constant background noise of all the normal functions of a warm, blood-filled body.

Now, all she could hear were voices, and it hadn't been hard to pick out theirs. They hadn't exactly been quiet. Or maybe they had, and it had just seemed loud in comparison to the sounds she was used to hearing all the time. After what seemed like minutes – but was probably only seconds – the boy nodded slightly. "Vivian Rose."

Florence nodded. So she had married the Rose boy after all. "But before that … her name was Vivian Hann."

"How did you know?" the boy asked.

Florence shrugged. "You have her chin." And her eyes. And her cheekbones. But remarking on _all_ of those would probably startle the boy even more.

"No, I mean … How did you know her?"

"We went to school together … for a while."

"You and … my mom?"

"I'm older than I look," Florence assured him.

"Is that your power – staying young?" Kenji asked, clearly intrigued.

"That's part of it," Florence answered vaguely. "And what about you? Assuming _you're_ about as old as you look, you wouldn't be here if your power wasn't something pretty impressive."

"What do you mean?"

Florence's gaze fell on Ian and Maria. "That's the idea, right? They wouldn't _really_ throw twelve and thirteen year old kids into the mix along with young 20-somethings and … well, _me_ … unless they thought they really had a chance. Look at what happened last year. All those older mutants, and Penelope comes out alive? That's not a coincidence." She smiled at Kenji. "Of course, if you'd rather not say, that's fine. You have no reason to trust me, after all." Except…

Kenji took a deep breath. "You and my mom were friends?"

Florence nodded. "We weren't particularly close, but we knew each other. Super strength, that was her thing. Oh, and she knew how to use it, too. Had a bit of a temper back in those days."

"Really?"

"Well, maybe not so much a _temper_ as a strong sense of justice. She certainly wouldn't have been one to go down without a fight." She cocked her head slightly. "You probably got that from her, too, I think."

"You think so?"

"I saw you watching those two earlier." She gestured over her shoulder at Elio and Lea. "You were thinking about joining them, but you didn't. You've got a bit more sense than that. They've got the right idea, sure enough, but they're going about it the wrong way."

"What do you mean?"

"There's a little saying I heard once. _If there's a fire you're trying to douse, you can't put it out from inside the house._ " She was pretty sure none of the others had heard it, but across the room, Vincent couldn't help a snort of almost-laughter. Florence ignored him. "Do you know what that means?"

Kenji hesitated, but only for a moment. "You can't solve a problem if you're stuck inside it?"

"Exactly. In order to really _do_ anything about these Games, we have to make it out of them alive. We can't really change anything from the inside. We have to be patient, and for now, we have to play their game."

"Chronokinesis," the boy blurted out. "That's what I can do. Manipulate time."

"Excellent," Florence beamed, holding out her hand, which Kenji immediately shook. She waited a moment, deciding, but only a moment. _What the hell. Why not?_

"And I'm a vampire."

* * *

 **Emery Mullins, 15**

"And I'm a vampire."

Emery's ears perked up. Or at least, they certainly would have if she'd had her _other_ ears at the moment. She had much better hearing in wolf form, but the girl nearby hadn't exactly been whispering. It was as if she didn't care whether anyone else found out who she was or what she could do. And maybe that made sense for someone with … well, whatever a vampire's powers were. Could she fly? Turn into a bat? Turn _other_ people into vampires?

Emery turned. She couldn't help it. She was curious. To her surprise, the girl who had spoken was one of the ones who'd been on the plane with her. Emery raised an eyebrow. She hadn't said anything about being a vampire then. Of course, Emery hadn't exactly been broadcasting what she could do, either. They'd had no idea what was in store for them, what they might be expected to do. But now that they knew…

"Emery, right?" the girl asked, and Emery realized she'd been staring. The older girl – _much_ older, from the sound of what Emery had overheard – smiled, and Emery was surprised by the lack of fangs. _Stupid._ Of course she didn't have fangs. It wasn't as if Emery had fangs, either – not when she was human. "Florence Roos," the girl introduced herself, holding out her hand. "Never met a vampire before?"

Emery smirked and shook it. "Never met a werewolf before?"

"No, but I could smell it on you?"

Emery froze. "Really?"

Florence chuckled. "No. When he picked me up, Judah mentioned someone sprouting fur and turning into a wolf. You were the only one already on the plane. I did the math."

"Why didn't you say something then?"

"Didn't know enough about what was going on. Wasn't sure what your reaction might be. I'm sure you can understand that."

Emery nodded. She'd never actually _told_ anyone about her mutation. If the girl had simply blurted out that she was a vampire on the plane, how _would_ she have reacted? "Aren't vampires and werewolves supposed to be…"

"Hereditary enemies?" Florence chuckled. "Never really been sure where that came from, myself. And like I said, never actually met a werewolf before. But if you'd rather be enemies—"

"No," Emery blurted out. "I want…" She trailed off, unsure how that sentence should end. What _did_ she want? She wanted to go home. But home … home didn't really exist. There was her brother, of course, but he was safe. He was probably safer, in fact, now that she was gone. There was nothing else for her to go back to. Which was just as well, because clearly the people in charge had no intention of letting anyone go anywhere, no matter how things ended. Penelope had survived the year before, after all, and she was still here. There _was_ no going back.

"You want a friend," the boy next to Florence finished automatically. And maybe that _was_ it. She wasn't sure she would know if it was. It had been so long since she'd _had_ any friends beside her brother. The boy held out his hand. "I'm Kenji. You can join us, if you'd like."

Emery shook his hand cautiously. "Are you sure? They said only two of us can…"

"They said only two of us can _survive_ ," Florence reasoned. "They said nothing about how many of us could work together – for a while, at least. Strength in numbers and all that. Wolves hunt in packs, after all."

"Wouldn't know much about that," Emery admitted. "Always been something of a lone wolf, myself." But that was only because it had been safer that way. Now … well, maybe it _would_ be safer in a group. A pack of sorts. She smiled at Kenji. "It _would_ be nice to have a friend or two."

Kenji grinned. "A vampire, a werewolf, and a … I need a better name than chronokinetic. It makes me sound like a science experiment."

"Time-Turner?" Florence offered.

Kenji made a face. "Isn't that something from Harry Potter?"

"Yeah, it is," Maria agreed. "Timekeeper?"

"Sounds like you're holding a stopwatch," Ian chuckled. "Timelord?"

"That's the doctor," Maria reasoned.

"Doctor who?" Ian asked.

"Exactly."

Ian rolled his eyes, chuckling, and Emery smiled along, even though she wasn't sure exactly what the joke was. "Timebender?" she suggested quietly.

Kenji immediately beamed. "I love it. A vampire, a werewolf, and a timebender. If only my family could…" He trailed off.

Emery wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Hey. It's okay. We've all got family we want to get back to. I've got a little brother about your age."

"How old is he?"

"Thirteen."

"I'm twelve."

Emery smirked. "Close enough."

"I've got a sister who's sixteen."

"I'm fifteen."

Kenji nodded. "Close enough."

* * *

 **Vi Voclain, 18**

He'd already had enough.

Vi took a deep breath as he slumped down into a corner with a cup of coffee, gripping it so tightly he was sure it was going to spill. Vampires and werewolves and whatever the hell a timebender was. Probably a whole load of other impressive things, too. How was he supposed to compete with that? How was he supposed to survive this?

He wasn't. That was the answer, really. He wasn't even supposed to be here. This … this was why no one had cared that he'd shown up and thrown a wrench in their plans. He would be dead soon enough, anyway. Nothing to worry about. No reason for them to bother about him.

"This seat taken?" asked a voice, and without waiting for an answer, the coach who had introduced himself as Vincent plopped down beside him. "Not quite what they promised you, huh?"

Vi scoffed. "You can say that again." He shook his head. "But they didn't really promise me anything. He just told me it was a competition and said I could wear one of these." He tapped his collar. "I figured … well, I didn't really think I had anything to lose. Guess I didn't really think it through."

Vincent ran his fingers absently along his own collar. "Maybe not. But I can't really blame you for that one. You were in a tough spot. Still are. Sometimes there aren't any good choices." He let the words hang there for a moment. "But there _are_ still choices. Did Judah happen to say whether he was planning to keep that collar turned _on_?"

"He didn't say," Vi realized. "I just assumed—"

"Don't. Don't assume anything. And don't ask him, either, because chances are good that he'll lie."

"So what do I do?"

"Show him that he _should_ keep it turned on. Convince him."

"How?"

"Why do you think he agreed to let you participate, Vi?"

"Why not? I'm dead as soon as someone with a stronger power decides to zap me out of existence."

Vincent almost laughed. "With that attitude, you certainly are. But that's not why he agreed. Your power, your … talent … it guarantees that something interesting will happen. Probably something _bad_ , at least from your perspective, but bad is _interesting_. If I had to take my guess, they'll wait until there's a dull moment, a moment where they need to get things moving, and then they'll let your power loose." He waited a moment to let that sink in. "Unless you show them that they don't have to. That you can keep things interesting all on your own."

"You mean…"

"Yes. If you show them that you're willing to fight, to shake things up a bit, to keep things moving, then they'll probably continue to let you do it."

"And you really think I have a chance? Against all of _them_?"

Vincent shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I think. What matters is what you're willing to _do_." He shook his head. "One of my contestants last year was a younger boy who was immune to poisons. Certainly a useful ability, but not exactly the most helpful in a fight. Sort of like mine."

"Yours?"

Vincent tapped his collar. "Did you think this was for decoration? I can hear and send messages on the wind." He nodded towards the other two coaches. "Maria can breathe underwater. Ian doesn't sleep." He leaned back against the wall. "I didn't push for a lot of the … improvements that we're making this year, but there was one suggestion I made."

Vi nodded, piecing it together. "The man who offered to train us in hand-to-hand combat – that was your idea."

"Got it in one."

"But if the idea of the Games is to show the world how dangerous mutants' powers are—"

"It's not."

"What?"

"It's not about our powers. Never has been. If this was just about how dangerous our powers are, they wouldn't be worried about people like me. And they would just hand you a collar and send you on your way, and you'd probably be grateful for it. This isn't about showing that our powers are dangerous. It's about showing that _we're_ dangerous – with or without our abilities. The boy last year – the one who was immune to poison – he wasn't killed by anyone's powers. He was killed with a knife. And he's just as dead as all the others." He clapped Vi on the back. "Show them you're just as deadly without your powers – maybe more – and they'll probably leave that damn collar on."

"You really think so?"

Vincent sighed. "Look, it'd probably be cheating for me to tell you what anyone else can do, but pay close attention to anyone who participates in their little talent show tonight. Find someone you think you can take in a fight, start off strong, and don't look back." He shook his head.

"After that, it's anybody's game."

* * *

 **Rick Clifton, 19**

He wasn't ready to play this game.

Rick took a deep breath and finished the last of his coffee. It was stone cold, but it had taken a while to convince himself that he should at least drink it. He still didn't feel like eating anything. He felt like he was going to be sick, but no one had mentioned where the bathrooms were. There was one back in his room, if he made it that far…

That seemed like a better idea than just sitting around, so he headed back down the hall. No one tried to stop him. What would be the point? It wasn't as if he'd be able to find his way out of the building. Now he just had to remember which room he'd been in…

A sudden lurch in his stomach shook that thought from his mind, and he darted into the nearest room and made it to the toilet just in time. He heaved, flushed, then heaved again. It smelled awful, but at least that was something _real_. None of the rest seemed real. The rest of the mutants. The idea of fighting any of them to the death. The idea of killing, of _dying_. None of it seemed real.

"Any better?" asked a voice from the door.

Rick hauled himself to his feet and flushed again before turning around. He'd expected one of the coaches, or maybe one of the other contestants – maybe whoever's room this was – but instead, the man who had introduced himself as Alvin was watching him from behind a half-darkened pair of glasses. "Alvin, right?" Rick asked. "You're the one we're supposed to ask about … what, math?"

"If you like."

"Well, I guess I do have a math question."

Alvin smiled a little. "Differential equations?"

"Probability."

"Ah."

"What are the odds…" He trailed off for a moment, unsure. But where was the harm in asking? "What are the odds you people find out I'm a mutant before I'm even sure myself?"

Alvin looked genuinely surprised. "You really didn't know?"

"I thought _maybe_ I was, but you … you're not guessing. You're sure."

"The tornadoes weren't a bit of a giveaway?"

"I live in _Kansas_."

"Fair point." Alvin nodded to the door. "Think you can make it down the hall?"

"Why?"

"Something I want to show you. I could bring it back here, if you're not feeling up to—"

"I'm all right," Rick insisted, and followed him down the hall. He _wasn't_ all right. None of this was all right. But walking around felt a little better.

At the end of the hall, Alvin ducked inside a room for a moment and returned with a manila folder. "You're right," Alvin agreed. "We weren't guessing. We knew. You see, it's not a guarantee, but mutations _do_ tend to run in families."

Rick shook his head. "There's no way my father's a—"

"Not your father. Your mother."

Rick froze. Despite how many times he'd asked when he was younger, his father had never told him what had happened to his mother – only that she was never coming back. Eventually, he'd stopped asking. Rick took a deep breath. "What's in the file?"

"Everything we know about her – which is considerably more than you do, I'd imagine. You were seven when she disappeared, right?"

"Yeah." He held out his hand. "What happened?"

Alvin made no move to hand over the file. "She was a mutant, like you. Pretty similar power, actually. Sometimes that happens; sometimes it doesn't. We don't really know why. Hers, however, was more focused on _negating_ weather, on calming things down. She wasn't exactly shy about it, either, which is how we found out. And by 'we,' I mean the government in general. I wasn't involved at the time. But I remember hearing about the storm."

"She caused a storm?"

"No, quite the opposite. Like I said, her specialty was _negating_ weather. The government came to her for help, asked her to stop a storm that was brewing off the southeast coast. Against your father's advice, she agreed to help. Maybe she was hoping that if a mutant was seen helping prevent a catastrophe, that would help change people's opinions. Maybe it would have, if more people had known. Probably not." He shook his head. "It wasn't enough for her to be in the same area as the storm, though. In order to use her power, she needed a perfect view. She had to be outside _in_ the storm. She managed to calm it down, help avert the crisis. But she didn't survive."

"She saved everyone?"

Alvin smiled. "Well, not _everyone_ , but the damage would have been much worse if she hadn't gotten involved."

"And the government … they never told anyone. No one ever told _me_."

Alvin nodded solemnly. "Because that's not the story they want people to hear. The government asking for help from mutants? _Relying_ on them? Turning to them in times of catastrophe? They couldn't have that."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Alvin shrugged. "You asked. You'll find there aren't as many secrets around here – not from the people involved, at least. And like it or not, you're involved. Your mother got to make that choice. You didn't." He handed the folder to Rick.

"But there are some choices you _can_ make."

* * *

 **Vincent Reid, 28**

That was an interesting choice.

Vincent watched as Rick came back, clutching a manila file. He was followed by Alvin, who kept his distance as Rick settled into a seat in one of the corners and opened the file. With only half his peripheral vision, it took Alvin a while to notice Vincent was watching him, but when he did, he made his way over to Vincent in what he probably thought was a casual manner. Vincent nodded. "You told him?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

"Enough. The rest is in the file I gave him."

"Why?"

"Why not? What harm can it do? If the kid's going to die, he deserves to know what got him into this mess."

"You don't believe he has a chance?"

"I believe in numbers. Thirty of them. Two come out. Those aren't good odds for any of them, especially for someone who just found out he even _had_ powers."

"He didn't know?"

"Apparently, there are enough tornadoes in Kansas that he wasn't sure. Would've been a different story if he'd known his mother was a mutant. As it is … he's got three days to learn how to use abilities he wasn't even sure he had."

"Puts him in the same boat with a few of the others, I suppose," Vincent reasoned. "Not because they didn't know, but because their powers won't be particularly _useful_. A girl who can sing people to sleep, a girl who can bring her shadow to life, a boy who's hoping you keep his collar turned on because his power will probably kill him if you don't."

"All yours, I noticed."

Vincent looked away. "Maria's got a few. One who can manipulate starlight. Another who controls colors."

Alvin wasn't finished. "And I noticed you snatched up our volunteer pretty quickly."

Vincent glared. "If you have a point, make it. And I seem to recall _you're_ the one who suggested I take Fae."

"I figured music was your thing," Alvin reasoned.

Vincent nodded. It was, but he hadn't expected Alvin to remember that. "And I'll tell her and Makenzie the same thing I told Vi – that it might be a good idea to take Judah up on his offer to teach a little hand-to-hand combat."

Alvin nodded. "I just told Rick the same thing."

"Really?"

"The chances of him learning how to really control his power in the amount of time he has … Well, it's good to have a fallback plan."

Vincent nodded. "Thought you might point him towards Liv. At least she _knew_ she's a mutant. She might have a tip or two."

Alvin chuckled. "You really think that's a good idea? Nudge the two weather manipulators towards each other?"

"Seemed to work out with the two aquakinetics last year," Vincent reasoned. Well, aside from the fact that they'd both died, but twenty-eight people had died.

"That was different."

Vincent sighed. He could always choose not to take the bait, but he had to admit he was a bit curious. "This is going to be about math again, isn't it."

"Weather is…" Alvin trailed off. "No. You know what? It's not math. It's music. It's sound waves. When waves meet, they can either cancel each other out, or they get added together."

"You're talking about interference."

"Constructive and destructive interference, yes. Now, let's say two sound waves meet constructively, but they're not perfectly lined up. Their frequencies are just a little bit off. What do you get?"

"They're out of tune."

"Exactly."

"And you're saying … What? The same sort of thing happens with weather?"

"Yes. Well, no, it's more complicated than that. But for the purposes of this explanation … yes. More or less. The point is, if the two of them decided to work together, there's a chance they might end up with the exact same frequency. You might get some beautiful music. But the chances are better that they'll end up out of tune. And given the scale of things that weather can affect, that would be … bad."

"Sounds like that's an understatement."

"You could say that."

"So you giving him a nudge towards Judah … That's not just about giving him a chance. You don't _want_ him manipulating the weather."

"I don't want him manipulating the weather at the same time and in the same area as Liv. Which is a lot less likely if he's not doing it at all. So yes."

Vincent nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

"What are you going to tell him?"

"Exactly what you told me. Stay away from Liv, don't try anything in the same area, and it wouldn't be a bad idea to spend some time with Judah."

"Just like that?"

Vincent shook his head. "Alvin, you let Penelope destroy a whole _island_ last year, and none of you broke a sweat. If you're actually worried about what might happen if there are two people trying to do different things with the weather—"

"It wouldn't even have to be different things," Alvin corrected. "Even the same thing, just a little bit out of sync."

"Right. My point is, if a storm comes and wipes out half of Wyoming, none of us get what we want. They all die, we all die, and someone else picks up where you left off, with even more ammunition that mutants are dangerous. That's not what any of us want."

Alvin nodded. "Agreed."

Vincent hesitated. "The thing is…"

Alvin sighed heavily. "There's always a thing."

"If he didn't know about his power, then he's obviously been using it subconsciously. He wasn't trying to. So even if he's not _trying_ to affect the weather, that's no guarantee."

"I know."

"What do you plan to do about it?"

"Nothing we can do. I told Nicholas we were in over our heads here. He didn't listen. Now we've just got to deal with it as well as we can, and hope for the best."

"That's your plan? Hope?"

Alvin shrugged. "Got a better one?"

Vincent shook his head, glancing around the room. He didn't have a better plan. Not for Liv and Rick, and not for the three chronokinetics. If messing with the weather was that dangerous, after all, how much more dangerous would it be if three of them were manipulating _time_? But there wasn't anything he could do about that – or any of it.

Nothing but hope that Alvin was wrong.

* * *

" _Who says what's wrong?"_


	12. Decide

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** And here's our next batch of ten tributes.

* * *

 **Decide**

* * *

 **March 16th, 11:24 MST  
** **Maria Nanami, 26**

She wondered what they would decide.

Maria made her way over towards Penelope as Alvin brought out a few large trays. White and wheat bread, along with several kinds of lunch meats – ham, turkey, and roast beef. Peanut butter and jelly. Assorted fruits and vegetables covered one of the trays, and there were fresh pitchers of juice and lemonade, a fresh pot of coffee, and small cartons of milk. Several of the contestants headed for the table immediately, but most hung back, already occupied with writing letters or mingling with the other contestants.

"What do you think will happen tonight?" Maria asked as Penelope joined her. "Got any feel for how many of them might choose to participate?" The talent show of sorts hadn't been her idea; it had been Lillian's. But she had to admit that it was a rather effective way of helping the contestants show everyone what they could do. It could help them find others to work with.

But only if enough of them participated. Lillian and a few others had wanted to make participation mandatory, but in the end, the consensus had been that the idea simply wasn't practical. There were at least a handful of them who had no real control over their powers and wouldn't be able to demonstrate anything on command. And there were some who would probably want to keep their abilities a secret – either to make the other contestants think that their powers might be more impressive, or to avoid scaring away potential teammates with the fact that their powers were a bit intimidating.

"If I had to guess, I'd say around half," Penelope reasoned. "A few more, a few less. Probably enough to keep it going. In a few more years, it'll probably be mandatory."

Maria winced. _A few more years._ Penelope was already planning for more Games in the future. And maybe that was the right idea, thinking long-term, but Maria didn't want to think about how many more Games there might be. Right now, she just wanted to focus on this year. These Games. The thirty contestants in the room with them right now, and the fact that only two of them were going to survive.

Then again, thinking long-term was the only reason there were going to be two survivors in the first place. Alvin had convinced Diana to call off an attempted rescue, and in return, he'd struck a deal that allowed for two survivors, as well as prevented them from choosing any relatives of former contestants for the Games. Thinking ahead had protected several young mutants from the possibility of being chosen. Except…

Except that meant someone else had been chosen in their place. They hadn't really _saved_ anyone; they'd simply exchanged one life for another. No matter how this went, twenty-eight of the young mutants in the room right now were going to die. That would happen no matter who they decided to work with, or how well they worked as a team, and no matter what she or Penelope or Ian or Vincent did.

So many of them were going to die.

* * *

 **Jaime Sanchez, 20**

They didn't want to die.

Jaime turned the postcard over in their hands. They'd been staring at it for a while now, but still hadn't written a word. Because writing something down, putting their thoughts into words now, meant that it was real. And they didn't _want_ it to be real. They didn't want to die.

But even more than that, they didn't want to kill. They didn't want to be a monster. People kept talking about mutants like they were monsters, and with a power like theirs … well, it wasn't too hard to believe it sometimes. They'd never _wanted_ to cause pain, but if the choice had been between it being their pain or someone else's, it hadn't been hard to make that choice. But if it was _death_ rather than just pain … was that any different?

Did that make them a monster if they went along with it?

Jaime glanced down at the postcard – a cheery sunrise behind the figure of a buffalo. Or maybe a bison. They'd never exactly been clear on what the difference was. Maybe it didn't matter. In the end, an animal was an animal. And the only thing separating humans and mutants from animals like that bison was their ability to think, to reason, to make decisions based on more than just instinct. More than what would keep them alive at the moment.

Jaime nodded a little. Maybe going along with these Games wouldn't make them monsters, but animals … maybe. That was certainly how the MAAB was treating them – as animals to be trained and collared and forced to perform the way they were expected to. It wasn't fair, treating them like this, but most of them didn't seem to think there was anything they could do about it. And maybe there wasn't – not looking at the big picture. But there had to be _something…_

Slowly, steadily, trying to force confidence into their movements, Jaime got up and made their way over to a corner where Elio and Lea were talking in whispers. Elio looked up as Jaime approached. "Care to join us?" he asked with a warm smile.

It was more than it sounded like, though. More than just an invitation to take a seat in their little corner. Jaime nodded and sat down anyway. "What they're doing – it's wrong," they said at last, as if that was an explanation. "And I don't … I don't want to be a part of it."

Elio nodded. "Well, I don't think we have much say in whether we're a _part_ of it, but we do get to choose _which_ part. What's your name?"

"Jaime Sanchez." They hesitated a moment, but only a moment. They weren't out to a lot of people besides their father, but if they were going to die, they were at least going to die as themself. "And I use they/them pronouns."

Elio didn't miss a beat. "Elio Haines, and I use he/him."

"Lea Cervantes, and mine are she/her." Lea held out her hand, and Jaime shook it.

"So what's your plan?" Jaime asked.

Lea chuckled. "What makes you think we have a plan?"

Jaime shrugged. "Well, you were definitely whispering about something."

Elio smiled. "The whispering's just for show. It makes them nervous."

Jaime glanced around. "Really?"

"Mostly, it seems to be bothering the coaches," Elio admitted. "But that's a start. If they get nervous enough, it might start to rub off on the people who really _should_ be nervous." He shook his head. "But there's not really a _secret_ plan. We get as many people together as we can. Once we're in the Games, we get as far away from everyone else as possible. And we don't kill each other. What're they going to do?"

Jaime let that sink in for a moment. What _would_ they do? The coaches had probably been right that trying to convince _everyone_ not to fight wouldn't work, but if they could get enough people – or even a few – and just stay away from the action, what would they do about it? Did they really expect to be able to force them to fight? And how did they plan to keep them in the same area in the first place? Last year's Games had been on an island; that seemed like a pretty good way to keep the contestants contained. But unless there was an island somewhere in the middle of Wyoming that they hadn't heard about…

That was certainly possible, of course. They'd rarely been outside of New Mexico, after all, and they hadn't gotten a good look around the night before. But from what they remembered from high school geography, Wyoming had quite a few mountains. If that was where the arena was, how hard could it be to get lost? How hard could it be for their captors to lose track of them?

What was to stop them from just running away?

* * *

 **Coburn Hughes, 17**

What was to stop him from just running away?

Coburn played the words he'd just heard over in his head. _Once we're in the arena, we get as far away from everyone else as possible._ It sounded like a reasonable plan, so what was the catch? How was anyone planning to stop them from just running away? Sure, they could send in the Sentinels to round them up again, but how was _that_ going to look to the people watching the Games? That would certainly make it clear that they didn't _want_ to fight, that they were being _forced_ into this.

Coburn shook his head. He still couldn't quite believe _what_ they were being forced into. His gaze strayed to his postcard, where he'd started writing a note to his sister, Cari. He'd started over at least five times now. What was he supposed to say? What were _any_ of them supposed to say? The letters were going to be screened for any hint of what was _really_ going on, so what was the point in sending anything at all?

Besides, he wasn't even certain where his sister would be. Would she still be with their father in Texas, or would all the excitement mean she would get sent back home to their mother early? What would happen if someone found out that _she_ was a mutant? Would she get sent here, too? No. No, there was no way anyone else could know. He set fire to things, after all. There was no way anyone would be able to tell _she_ was a mutant.

Was there?

Coburn glanced around the room. He hoped that was true. But the other mutants in the room … surely they didn't _all_ have powers as obvious as his. And yet the government had found out about them. And managed to capture them, as well. Whatever they could do, however strong their powers were, it hadn't been enough to protect them.

Coburn pinched the bridge of his nose. For a moment, as he'd been looking around the room, everything had seemed a bit fuzzy. He blinked. He was probably hungry. Yes, that was it. He hadn't really eaten much of his breakfast, and he hadn't had anything from the lunch table yet. Yeah, he was just hungry.

What else could it be?

Unless...

No. No, that was too much to hope for. Wasn't it?

Slowly, he got up and made his way to the lunch table, made a sandwich, and sat back down. Okay. Eat something. That was something he could do, at least. Maybe he couldn't do anything about the rest of it, but he could make sure that he wasn't starving.

"Anybody sitting here?"

Coburn looked up, but the girl had already taken a seat beside him. "Just you now." He shrugged. No one had said they _had_ to sit at the table that matched their color. Just because the girl was wearing red, and the table was—

Red. The table was also red. Coburn nearly jumped to his feet. "I didn't realize. Sorry, I'm in the wrong spot. I—"

The girl couldn't help a laugh. "It's okay. No harm done. They're just colors."

But Coburn was already hurrying back to the blue table. "It's not that." He snatched up the postcard he'd left on the table when he'd gone to get his lunch. "I didn't want to lose this."

The girl nodded, glancing at the postcard lying by her own plate. "I started writing one for my dad, but…"

"But what do you even say?" Coburn agreed. "Everything happened so fast when they took me, I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. Not really." That wasn't _entirely_ true. He and Cari had been communicating telepathically, but he sure as hell wasn't going to say that right now, when the MAAB could be listening. He'd lost touch with her after they'd left the hospital, but he kept hoping that maybe she was still listening somehow.

"I was at work when they took me. I didn't get to say goodbye, either." She turned the postcard over, as if doing so might reveal the right words to write on it. "It's just … if I die in these Games, all he'll know about what happened is what he sees on the television. But even if I win … Well, look at what happened to her." She nodded towards Penelope, who was standing in a corner with one of the other coaches. "She won, and she's still here. It's not like they let her go home. Even if I win, will I ever get to see him again?"

Coburn opened his mouth, but then shut it again. He hadn't even thought that far ahead. He'd been trying to think of some way to escape; he hadn't even bothered considering what might happen if he actually _won_. When he opened his mouth again, the words came out before he could stop them.

"Why don't we ask her?"

* * *

 **Savannah Kingston, 19**

"Why don't we ask her?"

Savannah blinked as she ran the suggestion over in her mind. Such a simple idea, and it clearly hadn't even occurred to the boy that they might not be _allowed_ to do that, or that they might not get a straight answer even if they did. After a moment, she shrugged. "Okay."

Immediately, the boy stood up and headed over to the younger girl. Younger, yes, but somehow also more intimidating. She had survived last year, after all, against so many older, stronger mutants. Savannah ran her fingers along her collar, where the "P-0206" reminded her that this girl was her coach. She was wearing the same red outfit Savannah was. Surely she was allowed to talk to her _coach_ , right?

Penelope nodded as soon as she saw them coming. The coach she was talking to – the boy's coach, Savannah realized – smiled a little. "You probably have questions."

"A few," the boy admitted. "What happens if we … well, if we _win_?"

"Already thinking optimistically," Penelope noted. "Good."

The boy shrugged. "Well, it's pretty obvious what happens if we _lose_. But even if we win … we don't get to go home, do we."

"Probably not, no," Penelope agreed.

Savannah raised an eyebrow. "Probably? You're still here."

"Didn't have much of a home to go back to."

"And the other girl who survived?" Savannah asked.

Penelope and the other coach – Maria, she was pretty sure – shared a look. After a moment, Maria answered. "The last we heard from her, she was with her family."

"Great." The boy's smile lit up his face.

Savannah put a hand on his arm, as if to stop him from getting carried away with himself. "And when was the last time you heard from her?" she asked skeptically.

"Almost a year now," Maria admitted.

"So you don't actually _know_ what happened to her after last year's Games."

"Not … exactly."

There was something she wasn't saying, but Savannah knew better than to press the matter. They weren't going to get answers now – not with so many other people around. Maybe if they could talk to the pair of them alone…

 _They_. Savannah glanced over at the boy. "What was your name again?"

"Coburn."

"Savannah. And it sounds like the only way we even have a _chance_ of seeing our families again is to win this thing."

"We?" Had he picked up on the same thing she had? Maybe. Maybe he was just looking for someone – anyone – to talk to, to be his friend. Maybe in the end, that was what she was looking for, too. Because it didn't really matter what had happened to the other girl after the Games – not as long as she was alive. Before they could even worry about that, they had to get through this. They had to win.

Didn't they?

"We, if that's okay with you," Savannah agreed.

"You don't even know what I … what my power is."

"And you don't know mine," Savannah admitted. "You want me to go first?"

"I make things catch fire," Coburn blurted out before she could get any farther. "It's a pain, really. I can't control it at all. That's why I'm here in the first place. I wasn't even supposed to be here, but they found out I'd burned down our house, and … well, I guess it's safer for everyone if I'm here." He looked away. "I'll understand if you don't want to … well, work with someone like me."

Savannah tilted her head and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I nearly burned down our school."

"You … what?"

Savannah nodded. "I was in the principal's office when I got some … bad news. My mother had cancer, and … and eventually it was too much. They told me, and suddenly there was electricity everywhere, like lightning. No one was hurt, but it wouldn't have taken much for it to be worse – a _lot_ worse. I can't control it either. Not really. The best way to avoid setting it off is to stay calm, stay away from stressful situations, but…"

She didn't need to finish the thought. This whole thing was one big, stressful situation. She had no way of knowing what might happen if they turned her collar off. No, _when_ they turned it off. Even if they kept it on until the Games, they would have to turn it off then. That was the whole point. She shook her head. "Sure you want to work with someone like _me_?"

Coburn hesitated a moment. But only a moment. Then he held out his hand.

"I think I do."

* * *

 **Iola Boman, 19**

What had she been thinking?

Iola drummed her fingers on the table. She had been listening to the pair behind her, and even thinking about asking if they wanted a little more company, but now she was glad she'd waited. A pyrokinetic _and_ an electrokinetic? If they could learn to control their powers even a little, they would be a force to be reckoned with. And if they completely lost control, that could be even worse – for everyone else and for each other. No, it was better to stay as far away from mutants like that as possible.

That would take some getting used to – the idea of staying _away_ from other mutants. She was used to trying to surround herself with as many of her fellow mutants as possible. But this was different. She couldn't start forming a family here like the one she'd found with Ekon, Compass, and the others. These people would be trying to kill her soon. And she would have to try to kill them.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. But maybe it wasn't all that surprising, either. If the humans could convince themselves that mutants were no better than animals – animals that would turn on each other at the first sign of trouble – then they could feel better about everything they were planning to do to them. Or at least feel less guilty. After all, who would it hurt if a few animals were rounded up, relocated, culled every now and then?

Who would it hurt if a few animals were slaughtered?

Iola shook her head, picking at her sandwich. The humans were the real problem, but she couldn't afford to focus on that right now. There wasn't anything she could do about the people who were running the show. Not yet. Right now, they were all on guard, and none of her fellow mutants had their powers. But once the Games started…

Maybe. Maybe there would be something they could do then, if the opportunity presented itself. But in order to do _anything_ , she would have to stay alive. That was the important thing. And if she was going to do that, she was going to need help. Being able to mimic other people was useful, certainly, but it wasn't exactly something that was going to help her in a fight. There was strength in numbers.

But at the same time, it was dangerous to surround herself with mutants who were _too_ powerful. Chances were, most of these kids – and most of them _did_ seem to be kids – didn't really know how to use their powers. Certainly the two she'd been listening to didn't. And that was important. She was used to helping younger mutants learn how to control their abilities, but she didn't have time to do that right now. There was no time for hand-holding; she needed people who already knew how to use their powers.

Of course, it was hard to tell from just a glance which of the people around her might fall into that category. Maybe that was the real purpose of the little talent show the people in charge were planning. Maybe it wasn't so much about learning what each other's powers were, but about learning how _well_ each of them could use them. That would be useful information for the people in charge as well, of course. They probably had some idea of how much they could control their abilities, but any more detail would obviously be helpful to them.

Iola took another bite of her sandwich. She didn't _want_ to help them. She wanted … well, at the moment, she wasn't entirely sure _what_ she wanted. She just knew that she didn't want to be _here_. She didn't want to have anything to do with this.

But she didn't have a choice.

None of them did.

 _Okay._ She forced down what was left of her sandwich and made her way back towards the lunch table. It wasn't much, maybe, but it was something that she could do. She wouldn't be any good to herself or anyone she might end up working with if she was hungry. There would probably be enough of that once the Games started. They hadn't _said_ anything about providing them with food. What had happened last year?

She couldn't remember exactly. She'd tried not to pay much attention to what was going on last year. A bunch of mutants taking part in some sort of experiment up in Alaska hadn't really interested her.

Now she wished she'd paid more attention.

* * *

 **Lilith Haywood, 23**

Now she was glad she'd been paying attention.

Lilith finished what was left of her lunch and headed over to the table where Coburn and Savannah had settled down. She hadn't _meant_ to eavesdrop. Not really. But the truth was that there wasn't a whole lot else to _do_. She'd started to write a letter to her sister before realizing that her sister might not even have gone home after what had happened with the Sentinels. So she'd settled for writing one to her family as a whole, but what was she supposed to say? That she was all right? That she was safe? She wasn't. None of them were. And even if she won, was she ever going to see them again?

What would they say if she did?

Lilith took a deep breath. _One thing at a time_. No matter what they might think of what she might end up doing in the Games, it was better than being dead. They would understand that. They had to. Any of them would do the same thing in her place. Anybody would.

Wouldn't they?

Of course they would. That was the whole reason why the Games had worked last year. Sure, there might have been one or two who had refused to play along, but most people, when their lives were on the line, would choose their own life over the lives of strangers. That was what the MAAB was counting on. Most of them wouldn't be willing to just roll over and die and let someone else win.

It would be different, maybe, if her death could save _all_ of the rest of them. If she died and the other twenty-nine would live. That would be different. That would be _heroic_. But only two of them were going to survive, no matter what she did. She didn't have a choice in how _many_ people died. All she could do was decide whether she was going to fight her hardest to be one of the ones who survived.

But she couldn't do it alone. Not that she would have wanted to even if she could, but her power was pretty much useless by itself. All she could do was help others control their own powers. From the sound of it, though, that was exactly what the other pair needed. A pyrokinetic and an electrokinetic together was a _lot_ of raw power. If she could help them control it…

Would they _want_ her help, though? That was the real question. The people in charge had said that only two of them could survive. Two, not three. Would that mean people wouldn't want to form larger groups?

Still, there was no harm in asking.

Coburn looked up as she approached their table. To her surprise, he was already smiling warmly. "Hey. Saw you watching us."

 _Shit_. Had she been that obvious? Lilith could feel her face growing red. "I … yeah. I overheard. And I thought you might want some … some help."

Savannah cocked her head a little. "Why us?"

"I'm not a fan of forest fires."

It was Coburn's turn to go red. "I don't _mean_ to set things on fire. It just—"

"Happens. I know." Lilith took a seat next to him, undeterred. "Look, my sister Meghan had the same problem. Not with fire, but with water. She can turn herself into water, but she couldn't control it. It would just _happen_. It used to drive her crazy."

"Used to?"

Lilith nodded. "She can control it now. I helped with that. That's what _my_ ability is – I can manipulate other mutants' powers, dampen them a bit so they can get them under control." In theory, it also worked in reverse, but she'd only dared to try once or twice to amplify her sister's power. Neither attempt had gone well, and after crippling Meghan's limbs for several weeks and falling into a coma herself, she'd sworn off trying to strengthen anyone's powers. It wasn't worth the effort – or the risk.

Besides, from the sound of it, these two already had plenty of strength, plenty of raw energy. They just needed to be able to focus it. And Coburn was already nodding along. "You'd do that … for us?"

Lilith smiled. "I think we'd make a good team. What do you say?"

Savannah hesitated. "We don't even know your name."

"Lilith."

"Savannah, and this is Coburn."

"I was listening."

"Yeah."

Lilith nodded. "Does that bother you?"

"No, but…"

"But there's something else that does."

Savannah looked away. "They said … only two people can survive. If there are _three_ of us…"

"At least one of us is going to die," Lilith finished. "I know. I get it. But we can deal with that when…"

"When there are fewer of us left?" Coburn offered.

"I guess so," Lilith agreed.

Savannah nodded. "Okay. Until then." Lilith smiled.

She hoped she hadn't just made a mistake.

* * *

 **Joseph Harris, 13**

There had to be some sort of mistake.

Joseph finished scribbling the last line on his postcard, resisting the urge to cross it out and start all over again. Maybe it was never going to be perfect, but it was better than nothing. He had to send _something_ to his mother, and the people in charge had said they were going to read them. Maybe if they read his, they would realize just how unfair all of this was. Maybe they would realize that he didn't deserve to be here.

Joseph wiped a few tears from his eyes. The truth was, _none_ of them probably deserved to be here. But at least some of the others probably stood a chance. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't shoot beams of electricity or create explosions with his mind or even turn invisible or something useful like that. All he could do was make _other_ mutants' powers stronger. Didn't they know that? They _had_ to, didn't they?

So why was he here?

"Anybody sitting here?" The voice startled Joseph out of his thoughts. Quickly, he wiped the tears from his eyes and looked up. The voice belonged to an older boy – one of the contestants who had spoken up earlier and insisted that everyone could just refuse to fight. What was his name again?

"I'm Elio." The boy took a seat next to Joseph. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. It seems so unfair that they're involving kids like you in this. Not that it's fair to any of us, but—"

"Oh, _please_ ," came a voice from behind him. Joseph turned in time to see an older girl rolling her eyes. "You _can't_ be serious."

Elio met her gaze. "What do you mean?"

"Look, if you want to be a martyr, that's your choice, but there's no reason you have to drag little kids into it."

Joseph could feel his face flush. "I'm not a little kid! I'm just as old as the girl who won last year."

The older girl nodded. "Okay. And _how_ did she win? Did she win by refusing to fight? Hoping that everyone else would go along with it? No. She won because she fought. You willing to do that?"

"Of course I am!" The words left his mouth before he even had time to think. "I don't want to die!"

Elio shook his head. "Of course you don't. But those aren't the only two options. If we—"

"Yes. They are." The older girl's voice was firm. "Win or die. That's it. Eventually you'll realize that, but it'll probably be too late. Leave the kid alone."

"I'm _not_ a kid."

The girl rolled her eyes as Elio wandered off. "Sure you're not. What's your name, kid?"

"Joseph. What's yours?"

"Iola."

Joseph glanced at where Elio had gone. "Thanks … for what you did."

Iola shrugged. "You would've gotten rid of him eventually."

"You think so?"

"Maybe. In a day or two. You can't afford to start making friends right now, Joseph – especially not ones who aren't going to be able to protect you."

"What about ones like you?"

Iola's expression froze. "What?"

"I just thought … Well, it seemed like _you_ wanted to protect me. Not that Elio meant to hurt me, but … you could have just let him talk to me, hope he convinced me to join him. After all, if less people are fighting, that's better for the people who are _willing_ to fight, right? Less competition?"

"I guess so, but—"

"But you stepped in and stopped him. Why?"

Iola shrugged. "I don't like seeing people taken advantage of."

"You think that's what he was doing?"

"I _hope_ that's what he was doing, because the alternative is worse."

"What do you mean?"

"The only other option is that he really _is_ that idealistic, and that's not going to end well for him."

Joseph nodded. "Okay, but why do you care?"

"I don't."

"I think you do."

Iola glared. "Damn it, kid, I should've just let him talk to you, okay?" She stood up and started to storm off before seemingly realizing that there wasn't really anywhere to go. She settled for heading for the lunch table. Joseph watched for a moment, then shook his head. Maybe she should have kept quiet. Maybe _he_ should have kept quiet. He shouldn't be out here looking for friends.

But he _wanted_ a friend.

That was _all_ he'd wanted.

* * *

 **Alannah Cavan, 12**

All he'd wanted was a friend.

Alannah watched as Iola stormed off to the lunch table, leaving Joseph alone. He hadn't even been looking for someone to keep him alive – not really. He'd just wanted someone who was good company. Someone he could talk to.

Alannah hesitated. But only for a moment. It had been a while since she'd met anyone _new_. Sure, she had a few friends at the asylum, but they were always the _same_ friends. And if she was going to die here, this was probably one of the last chances she might get to talk to someone without having to worry that they might kill her. Besides, the boy seemed friendly enough.

Actually, he seemed a bit _too_ friendly, but she understood that. He was scared. She'd seen a lot of scared people, and they reacted in different ways. Some closed themselves off, but others – people like him – they just kept reaching out, hoping that someone would come along and calm that fear. And maybe she couldn't do _that_ , exactly. In fact, she was used to doing exactly the opposite. But maybe he just needed someone to talk to.

This time, he was paying attention, rather than staring down at his postcard, and he saw her coming. He sighed. "Look, I—"

"I just thought you might want someone to talk to. Someone who isn't going to storm off."

Joseph opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. When he opened it once more, he was nodding, too. "Okay. What's your name?"

"Alannah. And you're Joseph." It wasn't a question. Half the room had probably overheard the argument. There really wasn't a whole lot of privacy, but she was used to that, too. She was used to people watching her, waiting for the slightest thing that might go wrong. "Where are you from?"

That was probably a safe enough question. She didn't want to ask anything too personal; that might scare him away. But asking about home would give him an opening if he wanted to talk about how much he missed it or—

"Billings. Well, I mean, we _used_ to live in Billings. My mom and I moved out to Fort Peck a while ago, but it still doesn't feel like where I'm _from_ , you know? But it's where my mom is, and…" His gaze strayed to the postcard in his hands. "And that's home, right? Where your family is? She's the only family I've got left, and she … she's going to be all alone if I…" He trailed off. "I'm sorry. I just … It's not fair. My sister Martha died, and then my dad died, and now I … I'm probably going to die here, in the middle of nowhere, because these people think we're all monsters."

"And you don't?"

"What?"

"You don't think you're a monster? After what happened to your family?"

Joseph's face grew red. "You think it was my _fault_?"

"I just assumed—"

"My sister had _cancer_! How is that my fault? And my dad…" His voice cracked for a moment, but then he continued, almost yelling. "My _dad_ couldn't take it anymore. He was so upset over Martha's death that he killed _himself._ You think _that's_ my fault?" He was out of breath now, panting.

Alannah looked away. "I'm sorry. I thought…" She didn't want to finish the sentence. Didn't want to explain _why_ she had jumped to that conclusion.

But it didn't take Joseph long to piece it together. "Wait. Did you … did something happen to _your_ family? Because of your mutation? Is that why you assumed that I—"

"It doesn't matter."

"What happened to them?"

"I killed them!"

Joseph froze. "What?"

"Not … well, not _exactly_ , but … but it was my fault. My mutation … I make people afraid. Insane, sometimes, if it gets bad enough. My brother killed himself, and then my mother and father … well, they lost it. My mother went after my father. She killed him. She tried to _eat_ him. And then she came after me, and I … I _did_ kill _her_." She shook her head. "Look, maybe _you're_ not a monster. Maybe _you_ don't deserve this. But _I_ am. And _I_ do. And I'm sorry if you're one of the safe ones, one of the ones who haven't hurt anyone, but the truth is that most of us mutants _deserve_ to be here. We deserve this, and other people deserve to be protected from us."

Joseph went silent for a moment. A _long_ moment – longer than was really comfortable, and Alannah was already pretty used to long, awkward silences. When he finally spoke, though, his next words were _not_ what she'd been expecting. "What if I could help?"

Alannah looked up, startled. "What? Didn't you hear what I just _said_. I'm dangerous. Anyone who's around me too long starts to go _nuts_. Except…"

"Except who?"

"Well, people who are _already_ nuts."

"What do you mean?"

"My friends at the asylum. It didn't seem to have any effect on them. But unless you forgot to mention that _you've_ spent the last few years locked up in an institution, too—"

"No, but … _my_ ability is that I can make other mutants' powers stronger. My friend Ben and I used to play around with it. He could control fire, and anytime I helped … well, he had more control, he could do _more_ with it. But I was just thinking, what if … what if it works in reverse?"

Alannah blinked. "You think you can _stop_ my power?"

"I think it's worth a try." He held out his hand. "What do you think?"

Alannah stared at his hand for a moment. Was that really possible? But maybe … maybe it had to at least be _possible_. The collar was stopping her power right now, after all. So the only question was whether Joseph could do the same thing. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was worth a try.

What did she have to lose?

* * *

 **Alphonso Bell-Garcia, 15**

What did he have to lose?

Alphonso glanced up as the man who had introduced himself as Judah entered the room and whispered something to Alvin, who shrugged. Before he had a chance to second-guess himself, Alphonso raced over just as Judah was turning to go. "Wait. I need to talk to you."

Judah shook his head. "Don't try it. Your collar's still on; it's not going to work on me."

That had been his first thought, but he'd figured it wouldn't work. He recovered quickly, forcing a smile. "Oh, I don't want to use my power on _you_."

Judah raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

"Not here."

"Why?"

"Walls have ears," Alphonso reasoned, and that seemed to be enough. Judah nodded and gestured to Alphonso to follow him out into the hallway. "Thanks," Alphonso smirked. "Wouldn't want to give my plan away."

"What's your plan?"

He didn't have a plan. He had maybe _half_ a plan, and that was being a bit generous. "This little talent show you're planning? I know there are quite a few people who aren't interested. Either they want to keep their powers a secret, or they don't want to feel like they're being treated like animals at a circus, expected to perform on command."

"And you think you can do something about that?"

"I _know_ I can do something about that. The question is whether you want me to, and _who_ you might want me to do something about. I can't force _all_ of them to volunteer to demonstrate what they can do; it doesn't work on that many people at once. But if there are one or two who would be able to give you a good show, one or two that I might be able to persuade, then I might be willing to do that."

"And what's in it for you?"

Alphonso shrugged. "The pleasure of their company."

"So you're looking for someone you can manipulate, someone with abilities that might be useful to you, and someone who wouldn't normally be inclined to … show off?"

"Exactly."

"I think I have just the right person in mind."

Alphonso's heart leapt. He hadn't expected things to go quite this well – not this quickly. "What's the catch?"

"Let's call it a … gesture of trust. After all, you're asking us to trust you to get him to play the game, rather than to help you escape or something. In return—" He shrugged. "In return, I'm going to ask _you_ to go into this blind. I'm not going to tell you what he can do. And I don't want you to ask, either – not until the … What did you call it? A talent show?"

Alphonso turned the thought over a few times. But there was really only one answer. Whoever Judah had in mind, they undoubtedly had a pretty impressive power. And the chances of him being able to figure it out on his own were slim. Judah had said _he_ , but that only narrowed it down by about half. "Okay," he agreed. "Who is it?"

"His name is Sebastian. Friends call him Seb. He could be a major player in this if he had half a mind to be."

"But he's … How did you put it? Not inclined to show off?"

Judah snorted. "Partly that. But he's also probably a bit upset with us at the moment, and not very excited about … How did _you_ put it? Being treated like an animal at a circus?"

"I don't think any of us are exactly _excited_ about it," Alphonso pointed out.

"He's … got more reason than most of you to be a bit put out right now."

"What did you do to him?"

"When I came to collect him, there were … complications. His uncle was killed. It's understandable that he'd be a bit upset, but you can help him get over that."

Alphonso let that sink in. "You killed his uncle, and you expect him to just get over it?"

"Probably not, if you put it like that. But you can at least help him channel those emotions into something productive."

Alphonso nodded. There was still something that didn't make sense. "If his abilities are that powerful, why didn't he try to save his uncle?"

Judah shook his head. "Sadly, it probably didn't even occur to him. He's a bit out of practice, you see. But with the right motivation, the right encouragement, the right … manipulation, even, he could be a force to be reckoned with. And you could be there to guide him. What do you think?"

Alphonso nodded. There wasn't really much of a choice – not now that he knew this Seb could be such a powerful ally. If _he_ didn't take advantage of that, someone else was bound to. And he'd rather have someone like that on his side. He held out his hand.

Judah smiled as he shook it.

* * *

 **Elio Haines, 16**

The boy was smiling when he came back into the room.

Elio shook his head. "He's up to something." Even as he said it, he knew how silly it sounded. All of them were up to _something_. They were getting ready to be thrown into a fight to the death. All around them, people seemed to be choosing sides, starting to form up into little groups. But so far, he, Jaime, and Lea hadn't had any success in adding to theirs. "Maybe we're going about this the wrong way," Elio muttered before he realized he'd said it out loud.

Lea raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Something one of the older girls said to me earlier. _If you want to be a martyr, that's your choice, but there's no reason you have to drag little kids into it._ Lea, who did you ask?"

Lea nodded, apparently catching on. "They _were_ some of the younger ones. Fae told me she'd think about it, but I don't think she wants to cause any trouble. Henry said they weren't interested pretty quickly."

Elio nodded. "Exactly. I figured the same thing. Offer to help the younger kids, the ones who might be more frightened, less likely to want to fight in the first place. But Iola … she seemed to think I was taking advantage of them, that we're just … recruiting martyrs for some hopeless cause."

"But we're not," Jaime pointed out, but less emphatically than Elio would have liked. "We have a chance, don't we?"

"More than a chance," Elio agreed. "And a better chance if it's not just a few of us. But going around and just asking people … well, maybe that's the wrong way to go about it."

"What are you suggesting?" Lea asked.

Elio leaned forward. "We need to put our money where our mouth is. If we're serious about not participating in this, we don't participate. We don't get up there and make fools of ourselves for their entertainment during their little talent show tonight. We don't indulge them. We don't train."

"So you're saying we do nothing?" Jaime asked. "What will that prove?"

"More than you think. Right now, they're just waiting for us to crack. Waiting for the moment when we're going to break down and play their game. People who might join us are going to think we're hypocrites if we _say_ we're not going to fight and then spend three days training to learn how to kill people."

"Or learn how to defend ourselves," Lea reasoned.

"Against mutants who might be able to destroy an entire island in one blow?" Elio asked skeptically. "Do any of us have powers that can do _anything_ against that?" He glanced at the other two before realizing none of them had actually _told_ each other what they could do. Maybe the others _did_ have abilities that would be able to protect them. Neither of them seemed about ready to answer, though; maybe they were reluctant to admit their powers wouldn't stand much of a chance against some of the others. Maybe they were embarrassed that they _would._

"Look," Elio sighed. "I calm people through prayers. A light appears, and I soothe them, heal their minds. Sedates them a bit, in some cases. Sometimes the light forms some sort of barrier, but that part … I can't really control it. I've never really had much of a reason to try. It _might_ act like a shield, but I don't really know, and it's certainly not going to keep people away forever."

Lea nodded. "I can copy movements. Any motion that someone does, I just … automatically know how to do it. I guess I don't really know what good practicing would do me anyway. The whole point is I don't really _have_ to practice."

Elio turned to Jaime, who looked away before murmuring, "Pain transferal."

"What?" Lea asked.

Jaime shook their head. "You heard me. I can transfer pain from one person to another. Can't create it, can't get rid of it, just … transfer it. I know that sounds terrible, and maybe it is, but … well, it's what I can do."

Elio laid a hand on Jaime's shoulder. "Pain isn't always terrible. Pain can be … cleansing. Purifying." He was certainly in no place to judge. How often had he caused himself pain as punishment for his sins?

Elio wasn't exactly sure what to make of the look that Jaime gave him, but after a moment, they nodded their agreement. "You're right … about not training, that is. That's not something I want to practice doing. So we just … what? Wait?"

Elio nodded. "I guess we do."

* * *

 **Elena Burleigh, 21**

"I guess they're almost ready."

Elena looked up from the last of her postcards. One for her parents, one for Astrid, one for Kathleen, and one for Cody. Beside her, Lee nodded towards the end of the room, where a few of the MAAB members were clearing out the lunch table, leaving a wide, empty space. "Wonder if that'll be enough room," Lee chuckled.

Elena shook her head. Lee hadn't said much more than a few words all day. He'd been sitting there, watching. Watching her pace around the room every now and then, getting up to get food, to refill her drink, to ask where the bathroom was. As far as she could tell, he'd gotten up once – for lunch. He'd been writing on a postcard at one point, but she hadn't bothered to ask who he was writing to. It didn't matter, did it? He was going to be dead soon. Or she was. Or they both were.

But still…

"Probably not," Elena agreed. "Not if some of them can do what last year's contestants did."

"Some of _them_ ," Lee repeated meaningfully. "Not you, I take it?"

"Mine … doesn't take up a lot of room," Elena agreed vaguely.

Lee nodded. "Neither does mine."

Maybe that should have been comforting. His tone certainly hadn't been threatening at all. But a power didn't have to take up a lot of room to be deadly. Of course, he was probably thinking the same thing about her. None of them had any idea what any of the others could do. Which was the purpose of the little talent show, of course. It saved awkward conversations like this. But if everyone was about to find out anyway—

"I can turn into a robot," Elena blurted out before she could second-guess herself. "Well, not _exactly._ My hands and feet turn robotic. But I can't control it. It just happens when I'm nervous, or scared, or … Actually, it'd probably be happening right now if this thing weren't on." She tapped her collar. "I was thinking about participating in the show, but—"

"But you can't control it."

"Yeah."

Lee shrugged. "What do you have to lose? No matter how much you try to hide it, people are going to find out eventually. And no matter how much practice you get in the next few days, you're not going to be ready. None of us are. Hell, even those of us who _know_ how to use our powers aren't ready for this." He leaned forward a little. "Want to know what I can do?"

Of course she did. But she didn't want to seem _too_ eager. "Sure," she agreed, trying her best to sound nonchalant.

Lee nodded knowingly. "I manipulate colors. I can drain the color from something, transfer it to something else. I'm pretty good at it, too, but…"

"But it's not exactly going to be useful in a fight," Elena finished.

"Except as camouflage, yeah," Lee agreed.

"Or maybe a distraction," Elena offered. "Someone's coming at you ready to fight, and suddenly all the color is gone – that would certainly throw me off balance."

Lee chuckled. "It doesn't work like that. It's not that quick, and I need physical contact. I can change _my_ color a bit quicker, but someone coming at me to try to kill me probably isn't going to care what I look like."

Elena nodded. "Sounds like we could both use a little help. Maybe we could … I don't know … try to find some together?"

Lee raised an eyebrow. "You want to work together? I just told you what I can do is pretty much useless."

Elena shrugged. "Okay, so your _power's_ not the most useful in a fight. That doesn't mean _you're_ useless. I've seen you, you know. Sitting here all day, watching everyone else. Observing, rather than just jumping right on in. I mean, _I'm_ usually someone who jumps right on in, but this is … well, this is different. I've never been in a fight before. I just want…"

She trailed off. What _did_ she want? She wanted someone who seemed to know what they were doing, someone who wasn't freaking out – not like _she_ was inside. And Lee didn't seem to care that she had no control over her powers. Elena looked up, realizing Lee hadn't answered. "If you don't want to, I understand."

Lee shook his head. "I didn't say that. I was just waiting for the end of that sentence."

"I don't know what I want," Elena admitted. "I just don't want to die."

"Me, either," Lee agreed. He held out his hand.

"So let's stay alive together."

* * *

 **Dr. Alvin Mendelson, 61**

Everything was beginning to come together.

Alvin glanced around as he moved another chair into place. Most of the contestants had registered that something was going on – that it was almost time to get started – but no one had really made a move yet towards the other end of the room, where Judah and Anita were clearing out some space. Not nearly _enough_ space for some of the mutants' powers, but that was where the back wall would come in handy, ready to be rolled back if the right mutants decided to show off.

It would be tempting, maybe, for them to make a run for it when it opened, but that was why there were a few Sentinels stationed outside – just in case. And of course, any of the MAAB could turn anyone's collar back on if necessary. In that case, even if they managed to temporarily make a break for it, they would be on their own in the wilderness, and it wouldn't take long to track them down.

That was the idea, at least. Now that they knew two of the mutants they had _thought_ had enhanced speed were actually chronokinetics, there was really no way of telling _what_ might happen once their collars were turned off. But would either of them really want to participate tonight? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it didn't really matter _when_ it happened. Either something would happen now, or something would happen during the Games. It was inevitable.

"Alvin, right?"

"That's me," Alvin agreed before turning around. He slid the chair a little to one side and turned to see two of the contestants. Savannah and … crap, what was the new boy's name? Something with a C, wasn't it? Alvin glanced down at the postcard in the boy's hand. _Oh, good._ Neat handwriting. "Coburn, right? What can I do for you?"

"I was just wondering what to do with these." Coburn held up the postcard.

Alvin nodded to a table on the far side of the room. "Just stick it over there in that pile. I'll make sure they get where they're going."

Coburn hurried off to the pile, but Savannah stayed. "Need a hand?"

Alvin shrugged. "Sure. Just grab a few of the chairs from that table." He set another one in place. There was something … odd. Something off. Not about the girl's offer to help, but about _where_ she was putting the chairs, as if she was aware that he was watching her, and trying to keep him from looking—

Out of the corner of his eye. _Clever._ Judah and Anita were busy, not paying attention to anything else going on in the room. He'd been the only one watching, and she was keeping his good eye on her. "Not bad," he nodded, and turned to look where she didn't want him to look. Sure enough, there was Coburn, sifting through the pile of letters. _Okay_. "What does he think he's going to find in there?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Savannah insisted. "He's probably looking for where you put the stamps or—"

"You're not a good liar," Alvin pointed out. "Don't take it personally; I'm not, either. What's he really looking for?"

When he didn't get an answer, Alvin headed over to the table, where Coburn looked up sheepishly. "I put them in order for you."

"In order?"

"Alphabetically by state." He held out the pile. "Here."

 _Another bad liar._ Alvin quickly glanced through them. They _were_ in order, and Coburn and Savannah were already headed to one of the other tables, where Lilith was waiting for them. Alvin sifted through the postcards. There was nothing particularly interesting there. Certainly nothing useful. A lot of 'I love you,' and 'I miss you.' Nothing mentioning the Games. Nothing useful about the contestants' abilities that he wouldn't have found out in an hour or two anyway. Alvin's gaze fell on one of the postcards with shaky handwriting. He'd have to try hard later to make out the name.

Names.

Names, and addresses, for a good number of the contestants' families and friends. _That_ was what was on the postcards. But what was he planning to do with those? What _could_ he do with those? Unless—

 _Shit._

There was always something. Always, always, _always_. No matter how hard they tried, no matter how smoothly the others were sure things were going to go, there was always something they couldn't account for. Something no one could have predicted. Something that could go very, very wrong.

And he was pretty sure it had just happened.

* * *

" _Only you can decide what you will do."_


	13. Informative

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** All right, here's our last bit of pre-training ... stuff. There's a poll up on my profile asking which contestants are your favorite. Feel free to vote for your own tribute(s) - I don't exactly have a way to stop you - but please don't _only_ vote for your own. If your own tribute(s) are the only one(s) you like, I'm doing something wrong. Vote for as many or as few as you like. I put the cap at 29 (because it won't let you set it up so people can vote for everyone), but that doesn't mean you _have_ to vote for 29. This one won't really have an effect on anything, aside from letting me know who might need a bit more screen time. The sponsor poll will be up about halfway through training, because there really isn't anything (yet) between training and the Games in this 'verse.

* * *

 **Informative**

* * *

 **March 16th, 16:49 MST  
** **Calpet, WY**

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 13**

She had to admit she was curious.

Penelope took her place beside the other coaches as the contestants began to file into the chairs facing the end of the room. It wasn't much of a stage, maybe, but that didn't really matter. This wasn't about the lights or the trappings or the _look_ of the thing. Not yet. In a few years, maybe. Once the government went public with what was really going on here, she had no doubt that this little talent show would be broadcast just like the rest of the Games. It was only a matter of time.

For now, though, the focus was on what the contestants could _do_ , not how impressive they looked while doing it. And for now at least, participation was voluntary, which added a whole different level to the exercise. Not only would the contestants get to see _who_ was comfortable enough to share what they could do in front of the whole group, but also who was willing to take the initiative and volunteer to go first, and who would wait until a few other people had decided to go first.

There was no right answer, of course. There were benefits and drawbacks to sharing what they could do immediately, just as there were to waiting longer or to refusing to participate at all. She couldn't help but wonder what she would have done, given the option. What would the _other_ contestants last year have done? Would it have changed anything that happened in the Games if they had known from the start what the others could do?

Maybe. If they had known from the start that Ky's power had the kind of range it had, and that he was prepared to use it, they might have been a bit more wary about exactly when they'd jumped out of the plane at the start of the Games. Ky had shot down several contestants before they'd even had a chance to reach the ground, including one of her own allies, Rachel. How different would the Games have been if she had lived, if there had been three of them at the start rather than just her and Monet?

Penelope shook the thought from her head. It didn't really matter what she would have done. The only reason it had occurred to her at all was because one of the contestants had asked earlier. This hadn't been an option for her last year, but things had worked out all right in the end. Or at least, they had worked out for _her_ , and that was the important thing right now.

In fact, the fact that _she_ had survived would probably make things better for some of the contestants this year. She had at least some experience with the sort of training that could help some of them better control their powers. That was probably part of the reason she was still here, and Piper was … well, wherever Piper was, probably trying to figure out the best way to disrupt this year's Games without causing trouble for herself and whoever she was working with.

Penelope crossed her arms, waiting for the announcement that was probably coming soon. It didn't matter what Piper was doing. Whatever it was, it wouldn't work. She'd managed to snatch a few of their potential contestants out of harm's way, but it hadn't made any difference. They'd simply found suitable replacements, and even two extra contestants to boot. It didn't matter what Piper did, or what any of the others tried to do.

Nothing could stop the Games.

* * *

 **Seb Krause, 16**

He couldn't stop shaking.

Seb glanced around at the other contestants as several members of the MAAB made their way to the front of the room. Or was it the back? Whichever way their chairs were facing now, anyway. He drummed his fingers on his leg, trying to focus. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to do _any_ of this, and he certainly didn't want to go along with the people who had killed his uncle and pretend that he was ready to play their game. But at the same time, there was something – some nagging thought in the back of his head – something that kept telling him that this was the right move, that he _had_ to participate.

"You all right?" The voice caught him by surprise as a boy took a seat beside him.

Seb shook his head. "About as much as any of us, I guess," he mumbled.

"I'm Alphonso." The boy held out his hand.

Seb glanced down at his hand. No reason to be rude. It wasn't the other boy's fault that they were both here, that his uncle was dead, that _he_ would probably be dead soon. "Seb." He shook Alphonso's hand. "Are you planning to…?" He nodded towards the front of the room, not quite sure how to finish the sentence. Are you planning to go along with this? Are you planning to show off? Are you planning to scare people with what you can do?

Alphonso shook his head. "Mine's not much of a visual thing, really. I can sense people's emotions, tell what they're feeling. Not exactly the sort of thing that would play well onstage." He cocked his head. "What about you? Want to give it a go?"

Seb hesitated. Part of him _did_. One of the men at the front of the room – Alvin, he was pretty sure he'd said his name was – was giving a little introduction about how this was going to work, but Seb was already getting to his feet. "Can … Can I go first?"

Alvin's good eye briefly flew to where Judah was standing on the far side of the room. Judah shrugged. "So much for formality," he reasoned.

"So it would seem," Alvin muttered, his voice tense. "Come on up, Seb."

Seb rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably as he made his way to the front of the room. Alvin sounded a bit upset, but he was probably just nervous. Nervous about what he knew Seb could do. Seb looked away. _He_ was nervous, too. It had been a while since he'd done this. Would it still work? No, that was a silly thought. Of _course_ it would still work. It wasn't like remembering how to … What? Ride a bike? It wasn't ever something he'd really _tried_ to do. He'd never wanted to be a mutant. He'd never wanted any of this.

But there was no getting away from it now. Seb's eyes flicked up as he turned to Alvin. "Do you have a pen? Or a pencil? Something to write with, anyway?"

Alvin handed him a pen, and one of the blank postcards left over from earlier in the day. There was a squirrel on the front. Alvin pressed a button on some sort of remote in his hand. "Whenever you're ready."

He wasn't ready. He would probably never be ready. But he _had_ to do this. Seb glanced at the other contestants, at the boy who had been sitting next to him. Alphonso smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. Seb took a deep breath and wrote the word _squirrel_.

Immediately, a squirrel appeared, racing away from him and the other contestants. Alvin nodded to one of the others, the woman who had introduced herself as Anita, and the back wall began to roll up into the ceiling, allowing the squirrel to escape. "Whoa!" Alphonso called. "You can make pictures come to life?"

Seb shook his head. "Not pictures." A squirrel had just happened to be what was on the postcard. He held up the card, tilting it so the others could see what he had written. Then he wrote, slowly so they could see, _apple_. Immediately, an apple appeared and dropped into his hand. Seb glanced up at Alphonso, who was grinning, beginning to put the pieces together, maybe figuring out that someone who could make food materialize out of thin air would be very useful in a survival situation. "Any requests?" he asked shakily, glancing around at the others. A voice called out over the murmuring.

"How about a knife?"

* * *

 **Frederick Bouvy, 17**

"How about a knife?"

Frederick leaned back in his seat as the boy hesitated. It had seemed like a natural enough suggestion to him. They were in a fight, after all – a fight to the _death_. It would certainly be useful to have weapons. Seb's gaze flickered over to a boy in the front row, who nodded encouragingly. Were they working together?

Seb wrote something on the paper – presumably the word _knife_ – and a knife appeared in the air. He made a move to catch it, but instead it clattered to the floor. Embarrassed, he plucked it off the ground and handed it to Alvin. "Sorry, I … I wasn't sure if it would work. I've never tried to make a weapon. I…" He shuffled back to his seat beside the other boy before he could get any farther. There was a _click_ as Alvin pressed a button on the remote, but Seb didn't seem particularly interested in using his power to try to escape.

Not yet, anyway. But if he could create food and weapons out of thin air, he could be useful, no matter how reluctant he was to participate. Frederick leapt to his feet. "I'd like to go next." He didn't wait to see whether Alvin would agree; he simply hurried to the front of the room before anyone else could get there. This was his chance to show that _he_ would be useful as an ally. "I'll take that apple, if you don't mind." He held up his hand, and Seb tossed it to him.

A quiet _click_ told him his collar was off. Carefully, he took off one of his gloves and touched the apple, which immediately started melting into goo. He heard several gasps, and then the obvious question, this time coming from the boy beside Seb. "Does that happen to people if you touch them?"

He'd been ready for that question. Frederick shrugged in a manner he hoped looked nonchalant. "I know it works on mice." It was a lie, but hopefully a convincing one. He'd never tried it on anything _alive_ before. He'd never wanted to, never had any _reason_ to. He'd done his best to use his power responsibly, but look where that had gotten him.

It was time to stop playing by the rules.

Frederick turned to Alvin, who instinctively took a step back, his finger poised over the button on the remote that would turn the collar back on. Frederick scoffed. "I'm not going to hurt _you_. Toss me the knife."

Alvin relaxed a little and gently tossed the knife in Frederick's direction. He didn't catch it – merely touched it as it flew through the air. It landed as a puddle of goo on the other side of the room. The boy next to Seb whispered something, and Seb tossed the pen into the air. Frederick grinned as he reached out and gave it the slightest tap as it passed his head. Still grinning, he reached down and gave one of the floor tiles a tap.

Immediately, it began melting, and then the one next to it, and the one next to that. _Shit_. He'd never tried touching the floor before. He hadn't wanted to make his house melt, after all. But he'd gotten carried away—

 _Click._ His collar turned back on, but the floor tiles kept melting. "Shit," Alvin muttered as the goo continued to spread. "Back up, everybody. Should've seen that one coming."

Frederick stared. He'd thought the floor would stop melting once his collar was back on. He'd never tried to melt anything that _big_ before. Would it stop once it hit the walls? The roof?

"Over here, everybody," Alvin called, pressing a button on his remote. Immediately, a door opened in the wall, and everybody raced out into the fresh air. Frederick breathed a sigh of relief as he looked around. It looked like everybody had made it, and the woman in the doctor's uniform had even grabbed the postcards off the table.

Frederick glanced around again. If someone _hadn't_ made it, that would have been good, wouldn't it? Or would the MAAB have been upset at him for killing someone _before_ the Games even began? Would the goo even have killed them? He wasn't really sure. Frederick peered back into the room. It _did_ seem to have stopped now, now that it had hit the walls of the room. Maybe they were made of a different material. Behind him, he could hear someone chuckling softly.

"So much for them knowing what they're doing, huh?"

* * *

 **Kiara Moore, 15**

She hadn't meant to say it out loud.

Kiara stopped laughing just as the other boy turned, maybe worried that she had been laughing at him. But she hadn't. His power certainly wasn't funny, but their _response._ They seriously hadn't thought that someone who could melt things wouldn't try to melt down the building they were in? Or maybe they had, and that was why they'd positioned the "stage," so to speak, far enough away from the walls. But they hadn't thought about the floor.

Neither had she, of course, but _she_ hadn't been sitting around for weeks or months or however long they'd been at this, trying to decide on the best mutants to pick for the Games, trying to work out ways to contain them, to control their powers. They had, and they still hadn't thought of it.

She wondered what else they hadn't thought of.

The boy turned around, satisfied that no one was still laughing, but another one of the contestants caught her gaze and nodded. One of the younger ones – about her age. "You're right, you know. I don't think they know what they're doing at all. Not that _we_ do either, but…"

"But we just found out this morning what we're actually here for," Kiara finished.

"Exactly."

Before Kiara could say anything else, however, one of the smaller girls made her way to the front of the group. "Are we proceeding?"

Alvin shrugged. "You want to go next, Florence?"

Florence shook her head. "The three of us do." She gestured to the pair behind her – a girl and a boy.

Alvin gave that a moment's thought. "No funny business."

"Funnier than liquefying the floor?" Florence countered.

"Fair point." He pressed a button, and the girl called Florence immediately began to change. Her arms sprouted into wings, her whole body shrinking, growing fur, lifting off the ground. Kiara stared. _A bat_. At the same time, the other girl was growing larger, also sprouting fur, a snout extending from her face. _A wolf_. And the boy … She could barely _see_ the boy, he was running so fast.

It took Kiara a moment to realize she was grinning. She couldn't help it. She'd never even met another mutant until yesterday, and _now_ … Werewolves, vampires, a kid who could run faster than humanly possible. It was like something out of a story, one of those really old ones her mother used to tell her. What if _all_ the old legends, the folk stories, the ones people dismissed as tall tales – what if _all_ of them were really about mutants?

Kiara clenched her fists. That made it worse, somehow – the idea that they'd been around all this time, and humans were still scared of them. If all of the heroes from her childhood stories had really been mutants, if people like her had contributed so much to culture and civilization around the world, and they were _still_ being hunted and treated like animals … No, that idea didn't make it any better.

Nothing would, of course. No matter what they did, no matter what they thought of the situation, they were still trapped in a fight to the death. "What about you?" the mutant beside her asked quietly as they watched the bat, the wolf, and the blur of movement in front of them, racing back and forth, this way and that. Never too far away, though – never far enough to make it look like they were trying to escape.

They probably weren't. But scouting out the area … maybe. How far could a wolf see or smell? How far away would a bat's echolocation work? Wherever the MAAB was planning to have them fight, was it somewhere around here? Close enough to get a feel for what sort of environment they might be dropped into, at least?

Maybe. There were mountains in the distance. Trees. But other than that, there didn't seem to be much around. Which was probably the idea – to keep them as far away from towns and people as they could. Kiara shook her head as she finally processed what the other contestant had asked. "What about me?"

"Planning to show off?"

Kiara shook her head. She'd thought about it, but the idea of using her power to attract allies – that was just opening herself up to be taken advantage of. She was sick of people coming to her for help, just wanting her around so that they could make use of her ability to heal them, and offering nothing in return. Of course, most of these people _would_ have something to offer in return, but she wanted to figure out what some of those 'something's were before they came running to her for help.

She could afford to wait.

* * *

 **Fae Tomasini, 13**

She couldn't wait to see what some of the others could do.

Fae grinned as the three of them turned back into their human shapes. Well, _two_ of them turned back, at least; the third just slowed down so that they could actually see him properly. It was … Well, it was _amazing_ , if she was being honest with herself. It had almost been enough to make her forget what was really going on, if only for a moment. It was like being at the circus, or the movies. It was almost like a _show_.

Before she could stop herself, Fae was racing to the front of the group. "Looks like we have another volunteer," Alvin observed, pressing the button on his remote before she'd even reached the front. Clearly, he wasn't worried about _her_ , which made sense. The people in charge had hand-picked her and the others; obviously, they knew what she could do. They knew she wasn't going to hurt them.

But that didn't mean that she couldn't have a little fun.

Fae took a deep breath and began to sing the first thing that had come to her mind. It was _Ave Maria_ , one of the first songs she'd learned in her church choir. A few chuckles near the front of the group quickly died away as her voice floated across the crowd of mutants, calming them, easing the tension, if only for a moment. One by one, she could see them start to relax, the frustration and anxiety leaving their expressions.

Near the front of the group, off to one side, she could see one of the older girls mouthing along the words to the song. Fae recognized her as the girl who had come to talk to her earlier – the one who had suggested that they simply refuse to fight, and they could all go home. Lea. That was her name. Fae had wanted to believe it. She still did. But now, after having seen what some of the other mutants could _do_ , what they were _ready_ to do…

She didn't want to fight. She probably would never really _want_ to. But if she wanted to get out of this alive, she would have to. She would have to find a way to fight, even if her power wasn't the most … well, intimidating.

 _Et in hora mortis nostrae._

The last few notes of the song danced through the air as Fae's gaze fell on a man standing near the back of the group. One of the coaches – _her_ coach, she realized, seeing his purple outfit that matched hers. He was nodding along with the song, a half-smile making its way across his face. As the last note faded away, he began clapping quietly. A few of the others caught on, and soon, about half of the other contestants were applauding.

Fae blushed, but she was beaming as she returned to her spot in the crowd. Someone gave her a pat on the shoulder. One of the younger boys gave her a high five. It was almost … fun.

Almost.

But not quite. It hadn't quite been enough to make her forget what they were really doing there. Once the Games started, the same people who were cheering for her now would be trying to kill her. She couldn't afford to forget that. These people were dangerous – or at least, some of them were. People who could turn into bats and wolves and who could melt the floor into goo just by touching it. Those were things that would be _useful_ in a fight. Once this little show was over, would any of them really care how well she could sing?

Still, the applause felt _good_. It felt good to have her mutation be recognized as something enjoyable. Sure, her parents had always told her that it was a gift, but how many other people would really see it that way? _Her_ power was relatively harmless, of course; there were mutants here who were much more dangerous. But still, at least for a moment, they had enjoyed what she could do.

And that had felt good.

* * *

 **Makenzie Norwood, 16**

It felt good to smile.

Makenzie kept clapping, along with several of the other contestants, as the younger girl headed back to her place. The applause felt almost natural, almost _human_ , and that was something she hadn't felt since she'd left South Carolina the day before. Finally, something here felt _real_. Something felt _right_.

And now she wanted more.

Makenzie made her way to the front of the crowd as the applause began to die down. "I … I'd like to go next."

The _click_ came almost immediately. He wasn't worried. There was no reason for him – or any of them – to be afraid. Makenzie gave a little wave, and her shadow detached itself from the ground, soaring above her head, then above the heads of the other contestants. A few of them ducked as it flew lower, but one of the girls, curious, reached up and touched it as it flew past, giggling a little as her hand passed through the shadow. The girl hurried to the front of the crowd, and Makenzie heard another soft _click_.

Almost immediately, a bubble floated up towards her shadow – thin and wispy and beautiful. Makenzie grinned, flicked her wrist a little, and the shadow circled down to give the bubble a little tap. To her surprise, it didn't burst. She turned to the other girl, beaming. "Can you make more?"

The other girl nodded, and soon, the shadow was surrounded in bubbles, bouncing off every which way as she gave them a little tap. Finally, one by one, they merged together into one larger bubble, about the size of a watermelon. Makenzie waved her hand and began folding her shadow smaller and smaller, until it fit inside the bubble. The other girl held out her hand for a high five, and Makenzie obliged.

Suddenly, another girl stepped out of the crowd. "Think it would fit around me?"

The bubble-making girl hesitated. "I don't know. They usually don't get that big."

 _Click._ Makenzie thought for a moment that Alvin had turned her collar back on, but no, her shadow was still floating inside the bubble. It took her a moment to realize what was happening – that the girl in front of her was shrinking, compressing, folding in on herself. Smaller and smaller, until she was only a little bit bigger than the bubble floating above her head. She grinned playfully. "How about now?"

Makenzie slid her shadow out of the bubble as the other girl waved a few more into existence, grouping them together into one larger bubble and carefully surrounding the folded-up girl. Makenzie nearly clapped her hands with delight as the bubble lifted off the ground a little. It was almost like something out of a book. In fact, she was pretty sure she _had_ read a book as a child where someone got flattened and could be folded up and sent through the mail, or fly like a kite.

Sure enough, the bubble flew a little higher. Then a little more. Makenzie glanced at the other girl, who seemed to be having trouble making it go any higher. But the girl inside the bubble was beaming. "Higher! Can you go higher?"

Not wanting to disappoint, the other girl sent the bubble a little higher, well over their heads. But it seemed to be flickering, fading a little bit. Makenzie braced herself, her shadow hovering a little below the bubble, ready to break the girl's fall if the bubble burst. It _should_ be able to take the weight; she'd used it in their school's production of Peter Pan to do exactly that. But that had all been under her control. If the other girl dropped suddenly—

The bubble flickered a little more. Makenzie could see the other girl trying to bring it down softly, but there wasn't enough time. The bubble burst, and the other girl landed perfectly in Makenzie's shadow. It didn't completely break her fall, but it slowed it, and when the other girl got to her feet and unfolded herself, she was grinning. "That was amazing! Let's do it again."

Makenzie glanced over at the other girl, who shook her head. "I don't think we should – not right now, anyway. It takes a lot of energy, and—"

"During training, then?" the other girl asked.

The girl with the bubbles stared. "You want to … to train together?"

"Hell yes." She held out her hand. "Evelyn."

"Kylena." She shook it, then turned to Makenzie. "You in?"

"You want me?" Makenzie couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice. She hadn't been expecting to find any allies this quickly. Her power wouldn't exactly be useful in a fight. But bubbles and being able to fold up into a smaller shape weren't exactly the most intimidating powers, either. Makenzie nodded, shaking Kylena's hand.

"I'm in."

* * *

 **Manaka Shizue, 15**

"I'm in."

Manaka watched silently as the three girls faded back into the crowd together. They'd made it look so easy – showing what they could do, immediately finding a group to work together with. And the three who had been working together earlier – the wolf, the bat, and the fast runner – they had seemed to fit so naturally together. Why couldn't _he_ find someone like that?

Maybe because he hadn't tried.

Manaka crossed his arms. He'd been _thinking_ about trying, but then the other boy had gone and done exactly the same thing _he_ had been planning to do – running around really fast. He wasn't sure if the other boy was just fast or if his power had something to do with time like his own, but maybe it didn't really matter, as long as the result was the same. If other people knew he could do the same thing…

Then what? The other boy had clearly already figured out who he would be working with. Anyone else who wasn't one of those three might actually be _looking_ for someone else who could do the same thing. Who better to run away from someone really fast than someone _else_ who could run really fast? Maybe it was worth giving it a shot…

No one else seemed to be racing up to volunteer, either. Alvin took a look around at the crowd. "Anybody else?"

Instinctively, Manaka raised his hand. Alvin chuckled. "This isn't school, Manaka. You don't need to raise your hand. Come on up." Manaka heard a soft _click_ as his collar turned off. "Don't do anything stupid," Alvin muttered under his breath.

Manaka hesitated. It definitely _had_ occurred to him, once they had headed outside rather than giving their little demonstrations inside the building. He _could_ run, but how far would he get before they turned his collar back on? Not far enough. He hadn't even been able to outrun Alvin for very long when he'd collected him for the Games.

No. No, this wasn't the time to run – not with everyone watching, not when they were waiting for him to try something. Maybe later, once they let their guards down. Maybe once the Games started, and everyone was paying attention to the flashier contestants who could turn into bears and wolves and fly around inside bubbles after folding themselves up. Maybe then he would be able to get away.

For now, he had to play along.

He took off running, but only in a circle around the group. He could see them watching him, but they all seemed to be moving so slowly in comparison. Manaka couldn't help a smile. He wasn't used to this. He was used to using his power in secret, trying to hide what he could do from everyone except Lei.

But now, showing them what he could do wouldn't put him in danger – at least, no more danger than he was already in. There was something almost _freeing_ about not having to worry that people would find out what he could do. These people already _knew_ he was a mutant. Maybe that meant the worst was over.

No. No, the _worst_ was yet to come. The _worst_ was when people started to die. But he didn't want to think about that yet. Manaka picked up the pace a little, but suddenly, as he neared the front of the group again, things felt a bit … _off_. There wasn't really another way to put it; things just felt _wrong_ somehow. Lei had told him occasionally that if he used his power near someone else, it was a bit disorienting for a moment, a bit strange. Maybe this was what that felt like. But why—

Then he saw someone beside him – but not someone he was expecting. He'd thought, seeing the shape running next to him, that maybe it was the younger boy from the other group. But this boy was older – maybe eighteen or nineteen – and grinning widely. He gave Manaka a friendly punch on the shoulder. "Caught you."

Manaka stared as they ran. "You're like me."

"Technically, since I'm older, _you're_ like me," the boy reasoned. "Marcus."

"Manaka."

"Thought I'd be the only one, until the other boy took off. Wonder how many of us there are."

"I don't know," Manaka admitted. "I hadn't really expected there to be _this_ many. I thought I was the only one, too. I was worried about finding someone to work with and having to—"

"Leave them in the dust if things got bad?"

"Yeah."

Marcus smiled. "Looks like you won't have to."

* * *

 **Ansel Moore, 21**

"Looks like it's our turn."

Ansel turned as two of the older contestants headed to the front of the group. Their collars clicked off almost immediately, and the boy turned to the rest of them. "I need a volunteer, actually – someone with a different colored shirt, that's all."

For a moment, there was silence. Apparently, no one wanted to be a guinea pig. After a moment, Alvin shook his head. "Look, if no one else wants to, I'm wearing a different—"

"I'll do it!" Ansel called before he could think twice. After all, Alvin knew what the other boy could do, and _he'd_ been willing to volunteer. The older boy smiled as Ansel stepped out of the crowd, his collar clicking off almost immediately. "What do you need me to do?"

"Just stand still," the other boy instructed. "What's your name?"

"Ansel."

"I'm Lee, and this is Elena." He placed a hand gently on Ansel's shoulder. Ansel almost shrank away, but then he realized something was happening to the shirt. Slowly, very slowly, the yellow was draining out of it. Ansel looked around. Where was it going? It seemed to be going _into_ the other boy's skin. After a few moments, the color had completely drained from his shirt, leaving it a pale grey.

Then Lee gave a little squeeze, and another color flowed in – the blue from his own shirt. But not all of it, and not as dark. Once he'd finished, both their shirts were about half as bright as the original blue. Ansel grinned as the yellow drained from Lee's skin and flowed into their shirts, coloring them both a shade of green. "Wow," he whispered.

Lee glanced over at Elena, who was grinning, but showed no sign of doing anything herself. "What about you?" he asked.

Elena winced. "I've been trying." She turned to Lee. "I _told_ you I can't do it on command. It only happens when I'm scared. I…"

Ansel focused for a moment, turning his attention out to the crowd. She just needed someone to scare her. That couldn't be _that_ hard, considering the powers some of these other mutants had. "Look at me." Ansel took a step towards her, shaking off Lee's hand, circling around Elena so that her back was to the crowd. "Someone out there is about to come and do something very nasty unless you start doing … whatever it is you're trying to do."

Elena shook her head. "Look, thank you for trying, but—"

Before she could finish the sentence, though, a pair of hands was around her throat. "Oh, _he's_ not the one you have to be worried about. Just a _little_ squeeze in the right place, and—"

The girl didn't get to finish the sentence. Elena squirmed out of her grasp, her fingers turning into some sort of metal, and nearly punched the girl in the face. If she hadn't ducked, she would have gotten _quite_ a headache. The other girl took a step back, holding up her hands. "Okay, easy. Easy. I'm not going to hurt you."

"What were you going to do?" Elena asked, her voice a bit shaky.

The other girl shrugged. "Squeeze a bit, I guess, until you got it together. Look, I don't know what I was thinking. I just…" She turned to Ansel, putting it together. "That was you, wasn't it? The idea. Is that what you do – give people ideas?"

Ansel nodded. "More or less. Inspiration inducement. I … inspire people."

"Quaint."

"What about you?"

The girl hesitated. After a moment, she shrugged. "I guess I scare people pretty well."

"That's your power? Scaring people?"

She tapped her collar. "Not even turned on. I couldn't have hurt her. No more than anybody else with their hands around her neck."

Lee nodded. "Smart."

"Thanks."

Elena nodded. "Think you might want to…?" She let the question hang in the air, but gestured to herself, Lee, and Ansel.

The girl glanced at the three of them. "You're all working together?"

Ansel looked hopefully at Lee and Elena, who nodded. "If that's what you want," Lee agreed. Ansel nodded. That's what they'd been hoping for when they'd asked for a volunteer. They'd been _hoping_ that someone would join them. Lee could probably just as easily have pulled the color out of something else, but he hadn't. They'd been looking for someone else to join them.

The girl hesitated. "You don't even know what I can do."

"We know you're quick on your feet," Lee pointed out. "What's your name?"

"Liv. And it's Lee, Elena, and Ansel, right?"

"Right," Ansel agreed. "So what do you think?"

Liv still seemed a bit hesitant. "Let's … train a bit together and see how it goes."

Ansel nodded as they rejoined the crowd. That made sense. Of _course_ it made sense. He'd been so eager to find someone to work with, he hadn't really thought about training. He'd never really needed to _practice_ what he could do before; it just sort of happened, sometimes without him even realizing it. It might be fun to have some time just to practice.

And some people to practice _with_.

* * *

 **Sybil Herveaux, 21**

It was pretty obvious why they'd wanted people to work with.

Sybil shook her head as the four of them melted back into the crowd. It was pretty pathetic, really, but maybe it made sense. Maybe the older the contestants were, the lamer their powers were going to be. Maybe that was the idea – to level the playing field a bit. Draining the color from something? What kind of a power was _that_? And being able to turn into a robot was certainly better, but the poor girl didn't seem to have any control over it. And _inspiring_ people? Really? Unless the other girl's power was something pretty astounding, the four of them weren't likely to last long at all.

Sybil shook her head as Alvin glanced around the crowd one more time, searching for anyone else who might want to show off. _She_ certainly wasn't about to go up there. Sure, _her_ power wasn't all that dangerous either, but at least she had the sense not to let anyone _know_ that her power wasn't dangerous. For all anyone else knew, she could kill them all with a single thought.

She couldn't, of course. It wasn't likely that any of the others could, either, considering they'd all been captured and brought in without too much trouble. Which ruled out some especially dangerous powers, perhaps, but that wasn't really much comfort.

Comfort. That was the wrong word. She wasn't looking for _comfort_. She was looking for someone. Someone who would be able to protect her, someone she could use to work her way out of this. Ideally, one of the coaches would be in a better position to help her, but none of them had seemed particularly willing to even entertain the idea of interfering with the Games. Oh, they would help her _train_ , to be sure, but they didn't have any reason to favor her over any of the other contestants. And she had no leverage.

Not with them, at least. And not with any of the members of the MAAB. Not yet. There was still time, but not a lot of it. She only had a matter of days before she would be fighting for her life, and she intended to make the most of it, not waste it hoping for someone else to come along and join her in having _fun_. No, she already had her eye on a target. The tricky part would be getting _him_ to be interested in _her_.

She wasn't used to thinking of that as the tricky part. In ordinary circumstances, all she would need to do was be _herself_ , and maybe sprinkle a little starlight into her appearance to make herself even more attractive. And that would be it. Her target would be head over heels for her without so much as a word. It has worked with Virgil.

She had _thought_ it had worked with Isaac.

Maybe that was why she was hesitating now, rather than simply approaching her target and introducing herself. Isaac hadn't even had a reason to betray her, and he had. He'd turned her in without a second thought. Now … anyone in the Games would have a _very_ good reason to turn on her, if it came down to it, unless there was a chance that they would be the last two.

Which was why she could only pick one. One target. One man worthy of her attention. And she was fairly certain she had already found him. Oh, there were some who hadn't given a demonstration yet, but anyone who was that hesitant about showing what he could do wasn't worth her time, anyway. So unless someone else stepped up soon…

No. No, even that wouldn't be good enough. Deciding at the last second that _maybe_ he wanted to participate wasn't something that she was looking for, either. She needed someone who was willing to jump right in, someone who wouldn't hesitate to shake things up, someone _perfect_ for her needs.

Sybil smiled as Alvin called out for volunteers one more time. She'd made up her mind. All that was left now was the chase, the suspense, the victory.

This was going to be fun.

* * *

 **Henry Helstrom, 14**

"All right. You've had your fun."

Henry turned at the sound of the voice – one of the contestants who had spoken up earlier in the day. Elio, they were pretty sure. Two of the other contestants were standing next to Elio, arms crossed. "That's fourteen people you've conned into playing along with your little game," the girl next to him agreed. "Isn't that enough?"

Alvin shook his head. "Look, no one is forcing anyone to participate. But I think your count's a little off. I'm counting sixteen."

Lea rolled her eyes. "Thought you said you were good at math."

Henry sighed. They didn't like this any more than anyone else did, but there was a difference between not going along with what their captors wanted and just being _obnoxious_ about it. _What the hell_. They took a step towards the front of the crowd. "I guess you've got your sixteen."

Alvin nodded. "Looks like I do … and then one extra." He pressed a button, and Henry's collar clicked off.

One extra? What was that supposed to mean? They'd figured out that Alvin had probably been counting Liv, even though she hadn't demonstrated whatever power was, but that only made fifteen, didn't it? Oh, well. Maybe it wasn't important right now. Henry waved a hand, and immediately a little figure began to form out of the dirt below them. Obediently, the little creature jumped up into Henry's waiting hand. Then another. Then another. Each about the size of one of Henry's fingers.

They _could_ make bigger ones, of course, but there was no reason to give that away. Henry gave one of the little golems a wink, and it raced out into the waiting crowd. A few of the other contestants immediately slid out of the way, as if the little creature might explode or something, but one of them – the girl who had been talking to Henry earlier – picked it up and tossed it back to them, unimpressed. It landed on Henry's shoulder and slid down their arm before landing on the ground below.

Henry gave a wave, and the rest of the golems went scampering out into the crowd, running this way and that, clambering over people's shoes and tugging on their pants. People were smiling. Laughing. _Good_. That was what they would remember – that the show had ended with smiles and laughter, rather than a couple angry contestants grumbling about how many people had cooperated.

Maybe the MAAB would be grateful for that.

Henry snapped their fingers, and immediately, the golems melted back into the ground, as if they had never been there. Alvin gave a little clap, and a couple of the others joined in. "I think that's a wrap for tonight, then," Alvin called. "Get some more food if you want it, get some sleep, and be ready for training tomorrow." He gave Henry a nod as he clicked their collar back on. "Thanks."

"Seventeen?"

"Pardon?"

"Where were you getting seventeen?" They held up their fingers, counting along. "The word-wizard, the one who left a bit of a mess on your floor, a vampire, a werewolf, a speedster, a singer, Peter Pan, Bubbles, Flat Stanley, two more speedsters, Bob Ross, a robot, an idea guy, whatever Liv can actually do. That's fifteen. I'm sixteen, not seventeen."

Alvin nodded. "You're missing one. But I wouldn't worry about that right now. Looks like someone wants to talk to you."

Henry turned towards where Alvin was looking, half-expecting to find Elio and Lea upset with them. Instead, two girls stood there – the singer and an older girl who hadn't participated. Behind them stood the girl they'd been talking to earlier, the one who had said the MAAB didn't really know what they were doing. The others were already heading back inside the building. Henry raised an eyebrow. "What?"

The older girl held out her hand. "Iola. I was talking to Fae here, and we think you've got the right idea. What's your name?"

"Henry." They stared at the girl's hand. "What do you mean, the right idea?"

"Playing the game."

"I didn't…" Henry started, before stopping themself short. They _had_. They hadn't really had a reason to demonstrate what they could do, but the _timing_ – right after Elio and Lea had insisted on _not_ playing – maybe that had made a point, set them up in opposition to … who? The people who didn't want this to happen? What did that make them?

Henry shook Iola's hand. "So what do you do?"

"Mimicry," Iola answered simply. "And I think you've already seen what Fae's capable of."

"Yeah, I bet this will be a very _harmonious_ group."

Fae giggled. "Thanks."

Henry cocked their head as the two of them headed back towards the building. Then they turned to the other girl. "And?"

The girl smirked. "I know you were holding back."

"Okay." No point denying it, really.

"And I want in."

Henry shrugged. "Okay."

"That's it?"

"Well, it might be nice to know your name, but—"

"Kiara. You asked Iola what she could do."

Henry nodded. "Yeah."

"But not me?"

Henry shrugged. "I already know what you can do."

She could _play_.

* * *

 **Kylena Albright, 16**

Two could play that game.

Kylena shook her head. "Bubbles. Bubbles? Who do they think they are? How would they like it if I called them Twigs because they can make a bunch of little sticks run around?"

Makenzie couldn't hide a giggle. "It really bothers you that much? They called me Peter Pan."

Kylena shook her head. "That's _different_." The three of them – her, Makenzie, and Evelyn – had decided to stay for a snack now that the floor had solidified again. But now Kylena was wishing they hadn't lingered _quite_ so long outside. The three of them had been just within earshot while Henry had been rattling off the list of different contestants' powers, and … _Bubbles?_

Evelyn cocked her head. "How's it different? And who the hell is Flat Stanley anyway?"

"It's a book," Makenzie answered. "A kid's book about a boy who gets flattened when something falls on him, and he can fold up and fit into different spaces and be flown as a kite."

"Fair enough," Evelyn conceded. "I can't fold up _that_ small, but—"

"But that's _different_ ," Kylena insisted, even though she couldn't quite put her finger on _how_ it was different. "Bubbles just sounds so … so … "

"Fun?" Makenzie offered.

Kylena shook her head. "Harmless." That was it, really. It made her sound harmless. And the problem with that, of course, was that she _was_. Her power might be good as a defense. It had certainly been useful in the past. But as far as actually _hurting_ anyone…

But that shouldn't bother her. She didn't _want_ to hurt anyone anyway. But she would _have_ to, if she wanted to survive.

"Mine's pretty harmless, too," Makenzie offered sympathetically. "Peter Pan's actually pretty accurate, though. I was _in_ Peter Pan at my school."

Evelyn grinned. "Really?"

"Yeah. I played Wendy, and we used my shadow as Peter Pan's shadow."

Kylena raised an eyebrow. "And no one noticed?"

"Of course they noticed."

"So people … knew you were a mutant? And they didn't _care_?"

"Yeah. I mean, once they realized I wasn't going to hurt them, most people came around."

"Most? Is that how you ended up here? Someone turned you in?"

Makenzie shook her head. "No, I … I don't think so, at least. I mean, they probably had my name from when I registered."

Evelyn nearly spit out her drink. "You actually registered yourself?"

Makenzie nodded. "Everyone already knew anyway, so it didn't seem like there was any point trying to keep it a secret. And they always said they were only interested in keeping track of mutants who were dangerous, but…"

She let the sentence hang in the air. Kylena nodded along, but she still couldn't quite believe it. She'd kept her power secret for years, her parents had moved to a different state, all because they'd been _convinced_ that if people knew what she could do, they'd hate her, fear her, turn her in to the government. And when Alvin had collected her, Nymeria … she'd been horrified at the thought that her sister was a mutant.

Kylena's gaze strayed to where the postcards had been on the table. They were gone now; maybe someone had thought to grab them when the floor had melted. She hadn't really known what to say to her sister. "And your family?" she ventured. "They didn't … mind?"

"It's just me and my mom, but no, she never seemed to mind. When I was little, she tried to get me to keep it secret, but … well, I guess I've never been very good with secrets."

Evelyn grinned. "Same, but my parents never stopped trying. My friends know, but my parents are real hard-asses about it. Convinced the government's going to appear and snag me just for existing. They'd be _so_ smug if they knew they were right."

Kylena couldn't help a chuckle at that. "I guess they _were_ right. My parents were always worried, too, but I thought we'd done enough. I thought we were safe." She shook her head. "I guess it'll never really be safe for people like us."

Mackenzie laid a hand gently on her arm. "Maybe not, but for now at least, we can keep each other as safe as we can."

Kylena nodded. That was it, really. That was all they could do. Try to protect each other as long as they could. But it wouldn't – _couldn't_ – last forever. Because at best, only two of them could survive. And what were the chances that it would really be two of _them_?

Slim. The chances were slim. But slim was better than none, and it was all they had right now. Kylena nodded, finally managing a smile.

"That sounds good to me."

* * *

 **Cari Hughes, 17** **  
** **Longlac, Ontario**

This was _not_ good.

Cari shook her head as she paced back and forth across her mother's kitchen floor. Her father had taken the first possible opportunity to ship her back to her mother's house. _That_ part was okay. After what he and his wife had done, she would be more than happy to never set foot in Texas again. But the rest of it…

She'd only gotten brief flashes from Coburn, but maybe that was normal. She'd never tried to use her power from this far away before. But she kept trying, hoping that maybe he would realize she was listening in, that he wasn't alone. But what good was that if she couldn't _do_ anything about it?

There had been a few things that had been clearer. A few words from people who were apparently 'coaches' near the beginning of the day. Enough to tell what was going on. Later, she'd caught a glimpse of some postcards – enough to tell that there were names on them. Maybe names that Coburn had wanted her to see. But they had been gone too quickly.

Cari clenched her fists. What did he want her to do? Even if she could remember some of the names, they had been addresses on postcards, not phone numbers or email addresses or something _useful_. Maybe she could use that information to search for them, but did he have any idea how many people had the same name? And if she said the wrong thing to the wrong person…

And even if she _did_ find the right person, what was she supposed to do?

"Cari?"

It was her mother's voice, coming from the living room. But there was something else – a tension that wasn't usually there. Cari hurried to the living room, expecting … What? Someone from the government? More sentinels?

Instead, she saw a girl standing there in the doorway. A girl with wispy blonde hair and dark glasses. "She says she's here to see you," her mother explained. "I don't know what—"

The girl took a step forward, cutting her off. "I'm Piper. And you're Cari. Your brother is currently somewhere in Wyoming, about to be forced to participate in something called the X-Games. Thirty of them go in, two survive."

"How do you—"

"I was one of those two last year."

Cari blinked. She had a vague memory of what had happened at the end of the Games last year, but she hadn't really been paying that much attention. "So you're here to … what? Help him?"

"No. It's too late for that. Before the Games, we tried to interfere as much as we could, rescue people we knew would be taken, but your brother wasn't on any of the lists. I'm sorry. There's nothing we can do for him. If he survives, it'll be on his own."

"So what are you doing here?"

"I'm not here for him. I'm here for you."

Cari took a step back. "Me? They know about me, too? Are they coming for me?"

"No. At least, I don't think so. Your brother's power was a bit more … obvious. Yours, on the other hand, might be more _useful_ , if you're willing to help us."

"Who's us?"

"A group of mutants who recognize that this is wrong, and want to do something about it."

"You're trying to stop the Games?"

"No. I already told you, it's too late for that. They tried that last year, but the Games were over before they could even get an accurate location for where they were taking place. We have a better idea this year, but we don't have the manpower to go in and stop the Games by force. We just _don't_ , and we can't take the risk. We're not trying to start a war here, because that's a war we simply _won't_ win."

Cari's head was spinning. "So what _are_ you trying to do?"

Piper took a step closer. "We can't stop the Games … but we _can_ expose them."

"To who?"

"Everyone. Mutants, humans, the whole country. The whole _world_. We can't stop it, but we can _show_ it, and then … _then_ we might have enough people to stop it."

"Might?"

"Only if people care, and are willing to do something." She held up her hand. "I know. Believe me, I know it's a huge _if_. But it's the only chance we have."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Come with me."

"What?"

"Come with me. Join us. Use your power to help us. You can communicate with your brother in the Games – directly. That's _useful_."

"So you … you have someone you _are_ communicating with," Cari realized. "Indirectly. You're looking for a better method of communication."

"We're looking for an _additional_ method of communication. It's always good to have a backup plan, especially with something like this."

"Who are you communicating with?"

"That's classified."

Cari raised an eyebrow. "Classified? What is this, _Mission Impossible_?"

"Something like that."

"How do you know I can't just read your mind?"

"I don't."

"So then why won't you—"

"I don't know that you _can't_. I just know that you _won't_."

"What?"

"That's my power, Cari. I see the future – the immediate future – in the area around me. If you were going to read my mind in the next few minutes, I would have seen it. After that, I can't be sure, but that seems like enough time for me to explain why you shouldn't, even if you can."

Cari crossed her arms. "I'm listening."

"If I tell you, you might tell your brother. It would be comforting information, after all – to know that there's someone he can trust, someone who's working with us. But it could also be dangerous. He could give us away."

"He wouldn't—"

"I'm sure he wouldn't _want_ to. I'm sure he wouldn't do it on _purpose._ But all it would take would be one wrong move. One wrong word, or even one wrong _glance_ , in the wrong place, at the wrong moment, and he could give the whole game away. And then we wouldn't be able to help anyone."

"You already said you weren't going to help him."

"We're not. But this is bigger than him. Just like it was bigger than me. We can't stop this year's Games. But maybe – just _maybe_ – if we work together, we can stop it from happening again. If it works, that's hundreds of lives saved. Maybe thousands. It's only a chance, but it's the only chance we have."

Cari hesitated. Piper sounded almost like she was trying to convince _herself_. "Do _you_ think this is going to work?"

"I _want_ it to."

"That's not what I asked."

"I know. But it's what matters. And there aren't a lot of better options right now – for either of us."

Cari nodded. "All right. I'm in."

Piper tapped something near her ear. "Snowy Owl to Nightcrawler. I've got her. Meet you at the rendezvous point."

Cari raised an eyebrow. "Snowy Owl?"

Piper blushed. "My code name. I'm trying it out, at least. Because owls can see in the dark? What do you think?"

"Who's Nightcrawler?"

"He was here in case we needed a quick exit, but I don't think anyone realized I was here. I don't draw as much attention as some people do."

Cari nodded. That was true enough. Just from looking at her, she'd never have known Piper was a mutant. Of course, the same was true about her. And Coburn, as long as he could keep from burning things up.

Piper turned to Cari's mother with almost exact precision. "You coming?"

"Of course. But I'm not a…"

"Mutant?" Piper finished. "That's all right. Neither's one of our leaders."

Cari breathed a sigh of relief. "So you're not—"

"In charge? No. Just a good scout. Now come _on_. Just because no one's noticed yet doesn't mean they won't. Let's get out of here."

Cari followed Piper out the door, her mother close behind. A car was waiting outside. "Really?" Cari asked. "I was expecting something a little more…"

"A little more _Mission Impossible_?" Piper offered. "Yeah, you'll get used to it. Hop in." Piper climbed in the passenger's seat. "Sure you won't let me drive?"

"Five minutes," answered a voice in a thick German accent. "Magneto said once you can hold your vision for five minutes into the future _with_ distractions, _then_ I can let you drive. Unless you're with him."

"Because he can just stop the car if something goes wrong," Piper agreed, smirking. "Fair's fair. His car, his rules." Silence. "Cari, you all right?"

"Mm-hmm," Cari lied, her expression frozen. Carefully neutral. She glanced at her mother, but she hadn't realized. Maybe she hadn't put the name into place yet. She'd never followed American news as carefully as Cari had. Cari took a deep breath and fastened her seat belt.

This was going to be even more dangerous than she'd thought.

* * *

" _All-in-all, I'd say the test was most informative."_


	14. Protect

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Just a quick reminder to vote in the "favorite contestants" poll if you haven't yet. Also, quick plug for the SYOT collaboration I'm doing with my brother, so feel free to check that out and send us some tributes.

* * *

 **Training Day One  
** **Protect**

* * *

 **Ian Viera, 23**

They had known this was a possibility.

Ian glanced out at the cafeteria, waiting, but the first contestant on his schedule showed no sign of budging from the table where he and his allies were sitting. Ian sighed. The other three coaches had already left with their first contestants, who, if not eager, were at least willing to get started, hoping to learn as much as they could. Alannah had left with Penelope, bringing Joseph with her. Both Emery and Florence were accompanying Kenji to his session with Maria. And Vincent had taken four of them – Fae, Henry, Kiara, and Iola.

That wasn't the problem. Kiara was _supposed_ to have been his first session, but they'd ironed that out the night before. When they'd arranged the schedule, they'd simply put the contestants in order by age – younger contestants in the morning, older ones in the afternoon. They'd known from the start that they might need to switch things up based on who was working together, and sure enough, Kiara had asked him last night if she could swap with someone so that she could join Fae for her session.

By itself, that certainly wasn't an issue. Elio, who had overheard them, had offered to switch, and assured Kiara that it was no trouble at all. Ian shook his head. He'd suspected then the _real_ reason that it wasn't any trouble. Elio had no intention of coming to his session, and from the look of things, neither did the other two. Lea and Jaime, of course, had time to change their minds. Lea's session with Maria was scheduled right before lunch, and Jaime was Vincent's last of the day.

Of _course_ he was the one who had to deal with this first. Ian glance over at Nicholas, who shrugged. Judah was probably already hard at work with a contestant or two who had decided to take him up on his offer, and he didn't see Anita, either. He'd seen Alvin leave with Penelope, probably tagging along in case something went wrong.

Nicholas made his way over to where Ian was watching Elio and his allies. "So." His tone was almost casual. "What's your play?"

Ian shook his head. "If they don't want to train, that's their choice." Part of him had been hoping that they'd be able to gather a little more support. A larger group of them might have stood a chance, but three? Three wasn't enough to make a difference – not really. Not now. What they were doing was futile, but it was also brave, in a way. Maybe it was _especially_ brave if they knew just how pointless it was.

Nicholas nodded slightly. "A word of advice?"

"If I say no, will that stop you?"

"Probably not." He shook his head. "It _is_ their choice, but it's your responsibility to make sure that it's an _informed_ choice. Make sure that they know what it is that they're refusing."

"I think we made it pretty clear why they were training—"

"In general, yes," Nicholas agreed. "But specifically, two of them may not see much of a point, and the third … well, the third may not want to use their power at all, much less practice with it, unless you give them a reason."

Ian sighed. Nicholas was right. Ian turned to head towards the table where Elio was sitting, but Nicholas' hand on his arm stopped him. "Look, if it turns out you can't protect them, don't be too hard on yourself."

Ian shook his head. "I know I can't protect them. Not all of them, at least. Only two of them are going to make it out of this, but—"

"That's not what I meant," Nicholas interrupted. "You can't protect any of them from the Games. But if it turns out you can't protect these three from themselves, from their own good intentions … don't take it personally. You just happened to have the bad luck of trying first."

Ian nodded, then shook Nicholas' arm off and headed over to the table. Was that his job? To protect these contestants from themselves? Protect them from trying to do the right thing? _Were_ they doing the right thing? For that matter, was _he_ doing the right thing?

He wished he could be certain.

* * *

 **Lea Cervantes, 18**

He had seemed so certain.

Lea watched Elio's expression as one of the coaches – Ian, she was pretty sure – made his way towards them. Elio smiled a little, but it seemed forced. "Look, whatever he says, we have to stick together," Elio reminded them. "This doesn't work if we start to compromise."

Lea nodded. He was right. He _had_ to be right, because the alternative was … well, the alternative was that what they were doing was pointless. A noble gesture, maybe, but an empty one. If this didn't work…

"Good morning, Elio." Ian's voice was cheerful, but that, too, seemed forced. "Maybe you forgot; you offered to switch spots with Kiara last night. That means you're up."

Elio leaned forward a little, his arms resting on the table. "I didn't forget. We're not going to train."

Ian nodded. He'd been expecting that. He hadn't _really_ thought that Elio had forgotten; that was obvious. He'd been trying to give him an out, a way to back down without looking bad. Ian glanced around the table. "And does that go for all of you?"

Lea nodded immediately. Jaime hesitated a moment, but then they nodded, as well. Ian took a seat between Elio and Jaime. "Look. I'm not going to force you to come to training. That would be pointless. You could just come and sit there, after all, and that would accomplish nothing. But if you don't mind me asking … Why?"

"Why what?" Lea asked.

" _Why_ don't you want to train? What do you think you're going to accomplish by just sitting here? Do you really think anyone is going to join you?"

"Maybe," Elio answered flatly.

"You're wrong."

"Maybe we are. Maybe not. What makes _you_ so certain?"

"Because if anyone _was_ going to join you, they would have done it by now. They would have done it when you first spoke up yesterday, or last night during the show, or they would have joined you this morning at this table right here. You know why they didn't?"

Lea crossed her arms. "Because they're scared."

"Damn right, they're scared," Ian agreed. "They're scared of _dying_."

Lea shook her head. "There are worse things."

"Really? You ever seen someone die?"

Silence. Finally, Lea shook her head. "No."

Ian turned to the others. "What about you?"

Elio shook his head. Jaime looked away, but finally muttered, "Yes."

"What was it like?"

Lea shook her head. "You don't need to—"

"Overwhelming," Jaime answered before Lea could get any farther. "It was my grandmother. She'd been sick for a while, and … and we knew she didn't have much time. There was nothing I could do – nothing except take some of the pain away. I just felt so…" They trailed off, near tears.

"Helpless?" Ian's voice was gentler now.

"Yeah."

"But you did what you could to help her. And you would have done _anything_ to be able to save her, to protect her from what was happening."

"Of course I would."

"That's what I'm asking you to do now. Once you're in the Games, once people start _dying_ , you don't want to end up wondering whether there was something you could have done to save each other, if only you had swallowed your pride and done a little training."

Lea glared. This wasn't about _pride_. It was about doing the right thing. But Jaime didn't seem so sure. "It's not like my power's going to save anyone," they reasoned.

"You don't know that. If you're injured in a fight, you don't think it would be useful to transfer that pain to your opponent – or to someone who's about to hurt one of your friends? If you're trying to escape from another group and one of you is injured, you don't think it would be useful to get rid of that pain so that you could move quicker?"

Jaime shook their head. "I can't get rid of it. I can only transfer it to other people, and if there aren't any other people around—"

"What about animals?"

* * *

 **Jaime Sanchez, 20**

"What about animals?"

Jaime raised an eyebrow. Ian had asked the question so casually, it had caught them off guard. "What?"

"Can you transfer pain to animals?"

"I … I don't know," Jaime admitted. "I've never tried." They'd never had any reason to – and certainly not any desire to. But they could see where Ian was going now.

Ian nodded, glad they were following along. "If the three of you end up alone, maybe one of you is injured, doesn't think they can keep going, and maybe there happens to be a bird overhead or a squirrel skittering up a tree … Don't you think that would be useful? Hell, it might even be a good way to _catch_ an animal if you're running low on food. Transfer a bit of pain, maybe a smaller animal can't take that much and that gives you a chance to nab it."

Jaime stared. "You think … You think that would work?"

"I don't know," Ian admitted. "That's the _point_. That's what training is for – to find out what you can and can't do _now_ so that when it matters, you _know_ whether you'll be able to pull it off. I don't know if _any_ of that is possible. I don't know if it works on animals at all. But don't you want to find out?"

Jaime bit their lip, unsure. Part of them _did_ want to know if it was at least possible. The idea of causing an animal pain was horrifying, yes, but surely that was better than doing it to a human. Jaime glanced over at Elio and Lea, who were watching. Waiting to see if they were going to give in. If they were going to crack.

Ian nodded, as if realizing he would have to make some headway with the other two before Jaime would agree. "And what about you, Lea? I know you can copy movements, but that's only if you've _seen_ them, right?"

"Right."

"What if I told you we have a pile of martial arts videos, just waiting for you to watch? All sorts of training exercises, and they usually start with the basics and work their way up, but you could just skip right to the end, couldn't you. A few hours, and you'd be ready to compete with the masters."

"What makes you think I haven't already done that?"

"Because if you had, you would have used it when they came to collect you." He shook his head. "Or maybe you wouldn't have. But I'm sure we could come up with _something_ you haven't already learned. And Elio—"

"Don't," Elio interrupted. "I'm not interested. These two can make their own decisions, but you're not going to be able to tempt me into this."

"I'm not trying to _tempt_ anyone, Elio. I'm not the enemy here."

"Then why are you trying _so_ hard to get us to play along?"

"I'm _trying_ to help you. I'm trying to give you a chance, to keep you from throwing away an opportunity that might save your life."

Elio leaned back, his arms crossed. "There are things that are worth dying for."

Ian sighed. "Fine." He stood up, pushed the chair in a bit more roughly than he needed to, and turned to leave. After a second, however, he turned back. "You know what? You're right. There _are_ things that are worth dying for. You know how the three of us ended up here? Maria, Vincent, and I? We were trying to protect a group of kids – kids just like you. We were trying to give them time to get out safely, trying to destroy any evidence that might lead the government to them. I thought I was going to die that night."

"But you didn't," Elio pointed out.

"Yeah. But a lot of other people did. Good people, who believed they were dying for something, that what they were fighting for was _worth_ it. They died to save other people." He shook his head. "What are _you_ dying for?"

Elio opened his mouth to answer, but Ian was already gone. Jaime took a deep breath, glancing from Elio to Lea and back. They both looked so certain, so confident that they were right. "You really think he's the enemy here?"

Elio shook his head. "No, but he's working _with_ them. And we can't do that. No matter how tempting it might be. We have to stick together." He leaned forward a little, his voice a little lower.

" _That's_ how we'll protect each other."

* * *

 **Kiara Moore, 15**

Would they really be able to protect her?

Kiara glanced around at the other three – Fae, Henry, and Iola – as the four of them followed Vincent outside. The woman who had introduced herself as Anita trailed a little ways behind them, a remote in her hand. Kiara took a good look around, blinking in the early morning light. It was a bit chilly, with quite a breeze blowing, but certainly not any colder than it would have been back in Minnesota, and at least it wasn't snowing.

A soft _click_ told Kiara her collar had been turned off, followed by three more – one for each of the others. Anita turned to head back towards the building, but Vincent took a step towards her. "Anita."

She turned. "Yeah?"

Vincent ran his hand along his own collar. "Please."

Anita hesitated, and Kiara raised an eyebrow. What was she worried about? What _was_ Vincent's power? Now that she thought about it, _none_ of the coaches had actually told them what they could do. Penelope had been in the Games last year, and Kiara remembered her … what? Exploding things? Making the island crumble? Something along those lines, she was pretty sure. If Vincent's power was anything like that, she could see why Anita might be a bit hesitant to let it loose.

After a moment, though, Anita nodded. "Don't do anything stupid, okay?"

Vincent's gaze was hard, but he nodded slightly. "Okay." There was another _click_ , and then a gasp from Vincent as he crumpled to his knees, one hand clutching his head. Kiara instinctively took a step closer, ready to help, but he didn't seem _hurt_. She'd always been able to tell if someone was hurt…

Vincent shook his head, as if he'd read her thoughts. "No. No, nothing like that. Nothing you can help with. It's just a bit … overwhelming at first. And it's been a while." He stood up shakily, taking a moment to straighten up and recover from … whatever had happened. He turned in Iola's direction, half-smirking. "Well, let's see how rusty _you_ are after a year of not being able to use your power."

Iola's face reddened. "I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

"You're a telepath?"

Vincent shook his head. "Close. I'm an aeromancer. I can read thoughts carried by the wind. Send them, too, if it's blowing the right direction. You just happened to be standing in the right spot." Iola raised an eyebrow and took a few steps to the left. Vincent chuckled. "Fair enough. And Fae, you don't need to raise your hand."

Fae lowered her hand sheepishly. "You told Kiara it wasn't anything she could help with. What did you mean?"

Vincent nodded towards Kiara. "Maybe you should ask her. If you're going to be working together…"

"I heal people," Kiara confirmed. "And I can tell how badly they're hurt."

Fae's eyes widened. "Wow. That's awesome."

 _You'd think so_. But she didn't say it out loud. It was probably better not to upset her … what? Teammates? Friends? Neither of those was quite the right word. No matter how much they acted like a team, after all, at least two of them were going to die. She couldn't afford to think of them as friends. Allies. Tentative allies, at best. _Useful_ allies, certainly, which was probably what they were thinking about her.

"Probably," Vincent agreed vaguely, even though she hadn't said it out loud.

"Probably what?" Henry asked.

But Vincent's attention was already elsewhere. He turned to Fae. "Well, since this is technically your session, let's start with … huh."

"What?" Fae asked. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. No, not at all. It's just … you _think_ in music."

"What?"

"Your thoughts – there's a tune to them. Notes. Rhythm."

"Is that good or bad?"

Vincent shrugged. "Neither, really. Just something I haven't heard very often before. Only once, actually. It's … interesting."

No. No, there was something more than that. Something he wasn't saying. Kiara shook the thought from her head. That was all right. He could keep his secrets if he wanted. Chances were, it wasn't anything that would have an impact on the Games.

And that was all that mattered.

* * *

 **Emery Mullins, 15**

"Control is what really matters."

Emery nodded as she and Florence watched Kenji and Maria, who were whispering off to one side. She couldn't quite hear what they were saying, but it sounded like they were arguing. "I haven't had a lot of time to practice controlling it," Emery admitted. "Most of the time, I'm just trying to keep people from finding out, and when I _do_ turn, it's…"

"Easier to just let the wolf run on instinct?" Florence finished.

"Yeah."

Florence nodded. "I understand. But there are also times when you might not _want_ to do that. Times when the wolf will want to run, and you really need to stand and fight – or the other way around. The wolf might think another contestant is easy prey when _you_ know better. So like I said … control." She raised an eyebrow as Maria and Kenji kept whispering. "Think you would be able to hear them if you changed?"

Emery nodded. "Sure." The wolf's hearing was much better than hers. "But I think they'd notice. Just like they'd notice you turning into a bat."

Florence smiled. "How about just a bat's ears?"

"You can do that?"

"Never had much of a reason to try, but _now_ …"

"Should I try, too?"

"It can't hurt."

 _It can't hurt._ Emery let that sink in. Practicing now wasn't going to hurt her. Everyone here already _knew_ what she could do. The three of them had decided to show off the night before, after all. And besides, the only people here now were her, Florence, Kenji, and Maria. One of the MAAB had dropped by to turn their collars off, but she'd quickly left the session in Maria's hands.

"Okay," Emery agreed. "What do I … do?"

"How do you usually change?"

"I just think about changing, and … it happens. Sometimes it happens without even thinking."

"Okay. So let's try thinking about our ears."

"That's it? Just … think about ears?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

No. No, she didn't have a better idea. Emery closed her eyes, trying to focus on _ears_. After a moment, she brushed her fingers through her hair. Her ears felt normal. She opened her eyes. Florence didn't seem to be having any more luck; her ears looked exactly the same. "Hmm, maybe not," Florence conceded. "Maybe just try listening _really_ hard."

Emery shook her head. "That's what we've _been_ doing. If our ears turned into bat or wolf ears every time we were just trying to listen harder, don't you think we would have noticed by now?"

A half-smile flickered across Florence's face. " _Would_ we?"

Emery hesitated. _Would_ she have noticed? Or would she just have assumed the other people had gotten louder? But she would have _noticed_ her ears turning furry, wouldn't she?

Still, what was it going to hurt? She turned to look at Maria and Kenji, focusing on their lips, watching them move. _Listen._

"But if it gets to that point, wouldn't you want to know that you can control it?" Maria asked gently.

Kenji's voice was lower, but _just_ audible. "I _can't_ control it. That's the point."

"That's why we're practicing."

"No. I promised."

"Promised who?"

"Promised _myself_."

Maria ran her hand through her hair. "All right. We'll stick to running for now. But if you ever want to try…" She trailed off, then turned to Florence and Emery. "I see you two are a step ahead already."

Florence chuckled. "What, do you have eyes in the back of your head?"

Maria smirked. "Comes with being a teacher. You get suspicious when people suddenly go completely silent. Nice ears."

Emery turned to look at Florence, whose ears had sprouted farther out, become a bit more pointed. She ran her hand along her own ears, which seemed similar – just a bit more furry. Emery blushed. "We were just curious."

Florence turned to Kenji. "So what is it you're not going to do?"

Kenji's face grew red. "It doesn't matter. I'm _not_ going to do it."

Florence looked up at Maria imploringly, but Maria shook her head. "His call. I would suggest keeping all your options open, but you're right, Kenji. It could be dangerous."

Emery raised an eyebrow. _What_ could be dangerous? They already knew he could manipulate time. What could be more dangerous than that?

What was he hiding?

* * *

 **Vi Voclain, 18**

Maybe it was time to find where Judah was hiding.

Vi stretched his arms as he got up from the table. He'd finished his breakfast in peace, which was a pleasant surprise. He was still getting used to that – to the idea that things weren't going to go wrong just because _he_ was there. Sure, the floor had turned into goo last night, but that had nothing to do with him. It had been rather refreshing for the problem to be someone else's fault, instead.

But that would only last as long as the MAAB kept his collar turned on, and the only way to make sure _that_ happened was to show them that they didn't need to turn it off in order for him to keep things interesting. That was what Vincent had said, after all – more or less. So once he'd dumped his cup and bowl back into the tub for used dishes, he made his way to the door that led outside in the direction Judah had gone earlier.

To his surprise, he saw someone was already there – a boy who was doing his best to dodge Judah's punches. Vi took a few steps closer, curious. He'd seen a couple of the other contestants follow Anita outside when she'd returned to the room a little while ago, but he'd figured most people would probably be a bit more reluctant to do any actual fighting.

Just as he was wondering whether he should come back later, however, the boy caught sight of him, which gave Judah an opening to land a punch, sending the boy staggering backwards until a sweep of Judah's leg landed him flat on his back. Judah turned. "Care to join us?"

Vi took a step backwards. "I can come back later if…"

Judah held out a hand and helped the other boy to his feet. "Actually, if you want to stick around, it might be better if you both had someone to practice with who's a bit more … on your level. Vi, this is Rick. Rick, Vi."

Rick hesitated a moment, but then took a step towards Vi and held out his hand. "Good to meet you. And if you don't mind practicing a little together … Yeah, he's been kind of kicking my ass."

Vi raised an eyebrow. "Kind of?"

To his relief, Rick laughed. "Okay, more than kind of. Ever been in a fight?"

Vi shook his head. "I wouldn't exactly call it a _fight_." He'd been mugged. He'd been stabbed. People had tried to kill him. But he'd never really fought back. Not for lack of trying, but something always seemed to happen _just_ as he was about to throw a punch or kick the other person. Something unlucky.

But that wouldn't happen now. And it wouldn't happen in the Games, as long as he kept playing along. Judah took a step back. "All right, whenever you're ready. We'll go ahead and stick to fists for now. Once you've got the hang of that, we might try a few simpler weapons, but you aren't likely to have anything more complicated than a knife at your disposal once you're in the Games. Maybe a wooden spear or a club if you happen to find the right big stick and have something to whittle with."

"Or someone who could conjure up a spear or a sword or a bow and arrow just by writing it down," Rick pointed out.

Judah chuckled. "Fair enough. But you really think he's going to pull one out of the air for _you_?"

Rick shrugged. "Well, no, but if he happens to leave one lying around…"

"Now you're thinking. But you can't count on being that lucky. You'll be dealing with mutants whose powers are going to be far more useful in a fight than _yours_."

Vi raised an eyebrow. "What's yours?"

"Does it matter?" Rick asked. "It's not going to help."

Vi chuckled wryly. "Come on. Can't be worse than mine. I'm a walking bad luck charm."

"What?"

"Yeah. I'm bad luck. So whatever you got … you can't tell me it's _that_ bad."

Rick shook his head. "Not _bad_. Just … not useful. I control the weather."

Vi blinked. "What? How is _that_ not useful? Couldn't you just … summon a bolt of lightning and hit somebody? Or blow them away from you with a gust of air? Or hell, just make it _rain_ when you want water?"

Rick's face was growing red. "Maybe if I could control it _at all_."

 _Ah_. That made sense. Vi nodded, then held up his fists and shrugged.

"So let's focus on what we _can_ control."

* * *

 **Joseph Harris, 13**

"I can't control it."

Joseph threw up his hands in frustration, taking a step away from Alannah as her collar clicked back on again. It had sounded like such a simple plan. All he had to do was make her power weaker rather than stronger. The trouble was, he had no idea how to _do_ that, and every time he tried, he was the first one to get hit with the waves of fear and panic rolling off her. Joseph shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, which were still a bit fuzzy. "I can't do it."

Penelope shook her head. "Yes, you _can_. It's just the fear telling you that you can't."

Joseph took a step back. "What if it isn't? What if that's just not how my power _works_? I was just guessing when I said that maybe I could help her dampen it. What if I just … can't?"

For a moment, there was silence. When Penelope spoke, her voice was quiet, almost as if she was talking to herself. "What if you don't have to?"

"What do you mean?" Alannah asked.

"He's been trying to _stop_ your power. You've never tried that before, right, Joseph?"

"That's what I've been _saying_."

"So what _have_ you done?"

"My friend Ben – I've made his power stronger."

"Exactly. So do that."

Alannah took a step back. "You want him to do _what_?"

"Make it stronger – and help you _focus_ it. The way I see it, the problem is that you're just … broadcasting fear _everywhere_. What if you could channel it instead?"

"At who?"

Penelope shrugged. "Anyone else. Try me, for a start."

"You're kidding, right?"

Penelope shook her head. "Alvin, could you turn on my collar. If something goes wrong, I don't want _my_ power going wild."

Alvin nodded. "Smart." He pressed a button, and her collar clicked on. She took a few steps back, anyway, as if being too close might still hurt them. "Ready?"

Joseph shook his head. "What? No, I'm not ready. How do I … do that?"

Penelope shrugged. "Only one way to find out. Go ahead, Alvin."

Alvin muttered something under his breath, but pressed a button anyway, and Alannah's collar clicked again. Joseph immediately placed a hand on her shoulder as a wave of fear hit him. This _had_ to work. If it didn't…

Then what? They were working together because he had offered to help her control her power. If he couldn't do that, she had no reason to want to work with him, and he would be alone again. He didn't want that. He was _afraid_ of that – _so_ afraid of being on his own.

" _Focus_." Penelope's voice cut through the chaos like a knife. "Don't think about the fear. Think about _me_. Focus it on me."

 _Focus_.

Joseph squeezed Alannah's shoulder. It usually didn't require this much physical contact – one touch was usually enough, and Ben's power would be amplified for a good half hour or so. But he needed to hold on to _something_ , or else … what? What was he worried would happen? He couldn't really put his finger on _what_ was scaring him.

Because it wasn't his fear. It was _hers_. She was just as scared as he was – scared that this wouldn't work, that she would be left alone. He was the only one who had offered to help her. Joseph squeezed tighter. He _wanted_ to help.

But what if he couldn't?

It wasn't until Alannah's collar clicked off that Joseph realized he was on his knees, trembling, tears streaming down his face. Alannah looked away, horrified, as soon as he looked up. "I can't do it," she whispered. "It's not going to work. Please. Please, just _go_. You're safer without me. You're safer with _anyone_ else."

Slowly, Joseph forced himself to his feet. "But _you're_ not."

"It doesn't matter," Alannah insisted. "Do you really think they're going to let someone like _me_ make it out of the Games alive? I'm going to die, but that doesn't mean you have to. Please … _please_ , just leave."

Joseph glanced at Penelope, who shrugged helplessly. "It's your call, kid. She's right; if you two can't get this under control, you're both probably better off on your own." She turned to Alannah. "Look, we can try again. Just focus on me. You want to make _me_ afraid of you. You want to convince _me_ to turn around and run away. That's it. Focus on that."

Alannah nodded reluctantly, and Penelope turned to Alvin. "Let's try it again." Alvin hesitated, his finger hovering over the button. Penelope sighed. "What?"

"I have an idea."

* * *

 **Alannah Cavan, 12**

"I have an idea."

Alannah turned, surprised. "Why would you want to help me?"

Alvin shrugged. "Don't care about helping you."

"You're not a good liar."

"Fine. It's not _just_ about helping you. Better?"

"What do you mean?"

Alvin sighed. "Look, the more control _everyone_ has over their powers, the better. Why do you think we're giving you time to train instead of just dumping you into the Games? All thirty of you in the Games, you projecting fear and insanity everywhere around you, it would be complete chaos. But if you can _focus_ that … all the better for everyone. Well, except whoever you decide to focus it on, I guess. But like Penelope said, if you start with making them _afraid_ of you, making them just turn around and run the other way … well, no harm done there in any case."

Alannah said nothing. He was trying to make her feel better, make it seem like her power could be used in a way that was harmless. He knew that was what she wanted – what she'd _always_ wanted. She'd never _wanted_ to hurt anyone; that was just what her power _did_. She couldn't control it. But if he had an idea for something that could help her do that…

"Okay, I'll bite," Alannah agreed. "What's your idea?"

Alvin took a step towards her. "Don't focus on Penelope. That's just making it harder. She's your coach, after all. She's here to help you, and if _she's_ afraid of you … I think that might be why you're subconsciously resisting the idea. You don't _want_ her to be afraid of you."

Alannah nodded. That made sense. About as much sense as anything else, at least. "So you want me to try to focus it on Joseph? That's not any better. He's trying to help me control it, and—"

Alvin shook his head, chuckling a little. "There's a third option." He turned to Penelope. "Can I trust you not to do anything we'll all regret?"

Penelope nodded. "Absolutely."

After only a moment's hesitation, he tossed her the remote. "Then take the reins … and you might want to step away."

Penelope nodded crisply and hurried off to a safe distance. Well, a _safer_ distance, at least. The closer people were to Alannah, the more her power seemed to affect them. Alvin turned to Joseph. "Ready to try again?"

Joseph nodded, and Alvin turned to Alannah. "All right. When Penelope turns your collar off, focus on _me_. I'll be standing just as close as Joseph, so try to steer your power in my direction rather than his. Joseph, try standing behind her. Might make it easier to focus."

Alannah shook her head. "Are you sure you want to…?"

Alvin nodded. "The effects seem to stop once your collar is back on, so if it gets too dangerous, Penelope will just turn it back on." He patted his pockets. "Nothing here. I won't hurt you – or myself. And Penelope?"

"Yes?"

"Don't turn it on unless something dangerous _actually_ happens – no matter what I ask you to do."

Penelope nodded. "Understood."

"Go ahead."

There was a soft _click_ , and Alvin immediately turned away, screaming, shielding his good eye. "Stop! Stop! Turn it back on! Turn it on!"

Alannah clenched her fists. It wouldn't have worked that fast, would it? He was pretending, wasn't he? Joseph gave her shoulder a squeeze. He was fine. _Okay, then_. She stared at Alvin, trying to focus. _Be afraid_. That was what humans did, wasn't it? They were afraid of her.

Maybe they _should_ be.

In a matter of minutes, Alvin was on his knees, babbling like an idiot, begging Penelope to turn the collar back on. Penelope stood, motionless, maybe twenty yards away, ignoring him completely. A smile crept across Alannah's face. It had worked. It had—

"What the hell is going on here?" There was a _click_ , and Alannah turned to see one of the other adults – one of the MAAB – rushing towards them. "Alvin, are you all right? How did Penelope get the remote? What—"

Alvin reached out just as the newcomer was about to shove Alannah out of the way, and grabbed his hand instead. "It's all right, Mack. It was my idea. _I_ gave her the remote. I was perfectly safe."

"Like hell you were."

"Do I look hurt?" Alvin was shaking as he got to his feet, but physically, he was fine.

"You were begging her to stop."

"I was scared. That's the point." His voice was a bit less shaky now. "Joseph, you all right?"

Joseph nodded. "I'm fine."

Alvin turned to Alannah. "Good. So you can channel it under perfect conditions – me right in front of you at the center of your attention, Joseph behind you, Penelope safely over there. This time, I'm going to run, and we'll see how far away I get before you lose control." He turned to Mack. "You're welcome to stay and watch, but you're going to want to stand somewhere else."

Mack raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you've got this under control?"

"No, but we're getting there." He turned to Penelope. "As soon as Mack's out of the way, turn it back off." He smiled at Alannah. "You've got this. You can _control_ this."

And for the first time, she felt like maybe she really could.

* * *

 **Alphonso Bell-Garcia, 15**

Maybe he really could get away with it.

Alphonso grinned as Seb followed him outside for what was officially Alphonso's session. Seb had been practically glued to him once they'd been forced outside the night before, and it hadn't taken much convincing to get him to come along. Which was a relief, because if _he_ was going to practice his power, he needed _someone_ to manipulate, and the chances of him being able to manipulate one of the coaches … well, they _had_ to be watching in case he did that, right?

Maybe. Judah certainly hadn't been taking any chances. But once they turned his collar off, what was to stop him from manipulating his coach into letting him go, giving him a head start? Nothing.

Nothing except the fact that there was nowhere to run. They were in the middle of Wyoming. No. No, even that wasn't right. In order to know that they were in the _middle_ , he would have to know exactly where in Wyoming they were. He'd heard someone say the word Calpet; maybe that was the name of a town. But he had no idea where that was, and they weren't exactly likely to tell him.

Ian turned as the two of them approached, and Alphonso was surprised to see another one of the contestants already there. "Sorry we're a bit early," Alphonso apologized smoothly. "I thought your first appointment was a no-show."

The older boy shook his head. "This isn't my session; I just had a question." He hesitated a moment, then held out his hand. "Frederick."

Alphonso nodded as he shook it. "I remember. Nice work with the floor last night."

Frederick couldn't hide a wince. "I didn't mean to—"

"Hey, no harm done." Alphonso shrugged. This couldn't be a coincidence – the other boy coming to ask Ian a question _just_ before his session. He was curious. Maybe he'd wanted to see what someone with a power as formidable as Seb's was doing with someone like him. Maybe he was interested in…

"Want to stick around?" Alphonso blurted out as Frederick turned to go. After all, he was the one who had suggested the night before that maybe Seb could conjure up a weapon – something Seb clearly hadn't thought of. He was already thinking about fighting, and that could be useful. _Very_ useful.

Frederick hesitated – a little _too_ long, as if he was _trying_ to look reluctant. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

Alphonso smiled. "Just try not to turn the ground into goo, okay?" _Gotcha._

Frederick chuckled. "And what do you do?"

"Nothing as flashy as either of you," Alphonso assured him. "I can sense emotions, moods, that sort of thing." He forced himself not to glance over at Ian to see if he was going to jump in and contradict him.

Frederick shifted uncomfortably. "So you know what I'm thinking?"

Alphonso tapped his collar. "Not right now. And it's more about feelings than thoughts, anyway. Sometimes if a thought is really clear – like if you're really hungry, for example, and thinking specifically about pizza – sometimes that'll come through, but mostly just emotions." It sounded good, probably. It was mostly garbage, but it was garbage that _sounded_ good – and probably sounded harmless.

Right now, that was what he needed.

Alphonso finally glanced over at Ian, and thought – for a brief second – that he saw the faintest hint of a smile. He obviously knew that everything Alphonso had said was a lie. Didn't he? If the MAAB knew – and Judah had obviously known – then the coaches knew, didn't they? Maybe he just didn't have a good reason to give him away. Alphonso was one of his contestants, after all; Seb wasn't. And Frederick … well, he only stood to gain from teaming up with the two of them. An ally who could conjure anything they wanted out of thin air was only going to be a good thing.

Right?

Obviously.

Until Seb and Frederick decided that maybe they didn't need the boy who could sense what they were feeling, that maybe being able to read emotions wasn't such a useful power, after all. He would have to keep the two of them under control. And that could be tricky.

But it was the only way he was going to survive.

* * *

 **Seb Krause, 16**

They were only going to survive this if they worked together.

Seb took a deep breath as the woman from the MAAB – he was pretty sure Ian had called her Lillian – turned off their collars. "So what now?" Alphonso asked.

Ian ran a hand through his hair. "Well, it's technically _your_ session, but…"

"But if I'm just going to be sensing people's emotions, there's no reason the other two shouldn't get some practice in, too," Alphonso finished. "Got it. Honestly, what I'm feeling is a bit of impatience … and maybe a hint of nervousness." He turned to Seb. "It's okay. This is why we're practicing. I know your power could be dangerous, but it's not like you turned the floor into goo last night."

Frederick chuckled. "So I should probably stick to melting whatever you conjure up. Is that what you're saying?"

Ian nodded. "Let's just try not to melt the ground."

Alphonso cocked his head a little. "Would he be able to?" When Ian shrugged, he turned to Frederick. "What do you think?"

"Not sure why I'd _want_ to," Frederick reasoned. "The goo can't hurt me, but if you three are standing on the ground, too … that might not be good."

"Wouldn't it be better to find out now, though?" Alphonso asked. When he got only a shrug in return, he turned to Seb instead. "What about you? Can you make _anything_? And what you're writing on … Does it have to be paper? Does it have to be a pen? Or could you write with, say, a stick on the ground? Or your finger? It's just that I assume there aren't going to be a lot of pens lying around in the middle of the Games."

"I … I don't know," Seb admitted.

"And what if you wrote something ridiculous? What if you wrote _unicorn_ or something? Would one show up? If you wrote _moon_ , would a moon appear? Would that kill everyone because it would mess with the Earth's gravity?" His face brightened. "Or what if you wrote _Alphonso_? Would that make another me? Could you make another you? Or would that just make another person who happened to have the same name? Would it make a baby?"

"I don't _know_ ," Seb insisted. "I've never _tried_ any of that." He'd never _wanted_ to. After he'd nearly burned down his school, he'd been careful. He'd only used his power to make _small_ things. "I … I don't know."

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Ian smiling at him. "Hey, that's what we're here for. That's _why_ we've got a few days to practice – to find out some of that stuff. But let's maybe stay away from summoning a moon for now, hmm?"

Alphonso rolled his eyes. "Fine." He chuckled. "Still think it'd be funny, if that was what got everyone killed because you screwed with the Earth's orbit. You'd never have thought of it, if they hadn't brought you here, and now they're just _begging_ you to use your power to destroy things. Hell, if they hadn't killed your uncle—"

"How'd you know about that?" Seb asked, startled. He hadn't told anyone.

Alphonso tapped the side of his head. "Like I said, thoughts sneak through sometimes if they're strong – or connected to strong emotions. I know you're upset by what they did, but the best way to get even is to _live_. Get out of this alive, and who knows?"

Who knows? Seb nodded. He _had_ been thinking about his uncle a lot. If he hadn't been a mutant, Niklas would be alive. If the government hadn't found _out_ he was a mutant, he would be alive. If the Games had never existed, if people weren't so _scared_ of mutants…

But they were. And he was dead. And nothing that Seb could write would change that. Unless…

 _Would that make another me? Could you make another you?_ Seb ran the thought over in his mind. Could he bring his uncle back just by writing it? Maybe. Maybe not. He certainly didn't want to try _here_. He didn't want his uncle to be caught in the middle of this. But maybe if he survived … maybe then. Seb nodded a little.

"So what do we try first?"

* * *

 **Fae Tomasini, 13**

She hadn't really wanted to go first.

Fae watched, humming to herself, as Iola took the first turn fighting one of Henry's golems. They'd made a more human-sized one this time, and were working on trying to control it in a fight. So far, Iola, who was practicing holding Vincent's shape while being rather distracted, had managed to avoid most of the golem's punches, but she also hadn't been able to put much of a dent in the creature. It was made out of dirt, after all. How did you hurt _dirt_?

Meanwhile, Kiara was watching, ready to step in in case someone _did_ get hurt. "There has to be _someone_ around here you can help if you want to get some practice in," Fae reasoned. "Why don't you ask the other contestants if any of them have a headache or something?"

Kiara rolled her eyes. "We're going to be killing them in a few days, and you want me to _help_ them?"

Fae shrugged. "Maybe they'll try to avoid you once the Games start if you helped them beforehand."

"Maybe," Kiara agreed. "But that would also mean telling them what I can _do_. I don't want everybody knowing that."

"Why not?"

"Think it through." Vincent's voice caught her off-guard; she hadn't realized he was listening to them. "One of you gets badly hurt in a fight, and your opponent gets distracted fighting someone else. Wouldn't it be useful if they didn't know that Kiara could make you good as new and you could jump right back in the fight?"

"It doesn't usually work quite that quickly – especially with something big," Kiara admitted. "But yeah, that's what I was thinking. As soon as people know you can help them, they _expect_ you to help them."

"What about us?" Fae asked.

"What about you?"

"You'll help _us_ , right?"

"Of course. We're working together. But anyone else … they're on their own."

"What about the man with the sunglasses?" Fae asked. "I bet you could heal his eye."

Kiara sighed. "You're missing the point."

"But he already _knows_ what you can do."

"And he helped bring all of us here for a death match anyway. Why would I want to help him?"

"Maybe he'd be grateful. Maybe he could do something to help you during the Games if—"

"No," Vincent interrupted. "It's a nice thought, but no. He wouldn't. None of them would."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. Did he tell you what happened to his eye in the first place?"

Fae shrugged. "I didn't ask."

"One of the contestants last year was a boy who could turn into a bear. Long story short, he got loose and started attacking people – including me, and including Alvin. But one of the other contestants was a girl who could talk to animals, and she stepped in and stopped him before he could kill Alvin."

Fae nodded. "And she died."

"In the Games, yes. He didn't help her. He _couldn't_ help her. As much as they like to pretend that they're in control, the truth is that the MAAB couldn't protect you in the Games even if they wanted to. They can turn people's collars on and off, but that's _it_. Other than that, you're on your own." _Now watch this._

It took Fae a moment to figure out he hadn't actually said the last three words. She'd heard him inside her head – on the wind. She looked where he was pointing, and she almost called out to Iola when she saw Henry materializing a second small golem right behind her. It wasn't very big; maybe they couldn't control more than one large one at a time. But it was big enough to materialize in _exactly_ the right spot to trip Iola, who toppled over just as the larger golem took a swipe at her arm.

Iola let out a scream as she slipped back into her regular shape, clutching her arm. The golem instantly crumbled back into the ground. "Are you all right?" Henry asked, startled. "I didn't mean to—"

"Yes, you did," Vincent interrupted. "And that was very well done. She won't be caught off-guard so easily again. Kiara?"

"It's broken," Kiara answered matter-of-factly, taking a step towards Iola.

Vincent nodded. "Then it looks like you have work to do." He turned to Fae.

"I guess it's your turn."

* * *

 **Dr. Alvin Mendelson, 61**

"Maybe you should let someone else take a turn tomorrow."

Alvin forced himself to his feet as Penelope held out the remote. She'd already turned Alannah and Joseph's collars back on, and they were headed back inside the building. Her next contestant would be out soon. Alvin drew a shaky breath, trying to remember who was up next. His head was spinning, but the dizziness was already starting to fade a little. He shook his head, trying to keep himself from laughing, still a bit giddy from the sudden emotional whiplash. "Yeah, I'm sure everyone else will be lining up to volunteer."

"I'm serious, Alvin."

"Do you have a better idea?"

Penelope fell silent. She _didn't_ have a better idea. None of the others would jump at the idea, he was certain. Mack had been freaking out about the whole affair. Judah and Anita were busy teaching combat skills and first aid, though he'd been too busy to check and see if they'd had any recruits. Hans wouldn't – and at his age, _shouldn't_. Nicholas was just as unlikely – if not more. Lillian would probably enjoy _watching_.

"What about Francine?" Penelope asked just as Alvin's mental list had reached the same idea.

Alvin shook his head, his voice firm. "No."

"Why? She might be willing to—"

"She probably would – but only because she feels guilty. Feels like she deserves it for being part of this."

"And you volunteered because…?"

"Because the other option was _you_ , and _you_ need to be fresh and alert in just a few minutes whenever your next contestants turn up. _I_ , on the other hand, can go enjoy a nice, long lunch break."

"It's ten o' clock."

"Brunch break, then. What's the difference?"

"So you were protecting me?"

"You don't need protecting. I was helping _them_. Would you have been able to deal with it? Absolutely. I'm not going to stand here and pretend I'm tougher than you; we both know I'm not. But the more alert you are, the better for them." He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to clear his mind.

Penelope shook her head. "I know what you're doing."

"Great. Please share with the class."

"You're looking for an excuse for when something goes wrong. You can say you were distracted, delirious, that you were just so _afraid_ that something slipped your mind."

Alvin raised an eyebrow. Where was she heading? "When something goes wrong?"

"Whatever you have planned."

"You've lost me."

"I know you're the leak."

This time, Alvin _did_ burst out laughing – and then turned to see Emery, Florence, and Kenji staring at him in surprise. He shook his head. "Really? You think _I'm_ the leak?"

"You may have everyone else fooled with the whole 'I cannot tell a lie' routine, but I'm not buying it. You're the leak, and whatever you have planned _isn't_ going to work. It didn't work last year, it didn't save anyone from being collected this year, and it's not going to work now."

Alvin raised an eyebrow. Something was off. Why was she insisting on continuing the conversation even though her contestants were already—

Oh.

Her contestants were already here. Alvin shrugged noncommittally and headed back towards the building, switching off the contestants' collars on the way. _Something_ was going on, but right now, he didn't have the energy to figure out what. Penelope wasn't a fool. She'd known the other three were standing there. She _wanted_ some of the contestants to know there was a leak – and more importantly, she wanted them to _think_ that it was him. Why? What did she have to gain from that, unless…

Unless she knew who the leak _really_ was. If she thought the real leak was close to giving themselves away, she could be trying to throw everyone off their scent. Alvin glanced back at the four of them before stepping inside the building. If Penelope knew who the _real_ leak was, that meant she was trying to protect them.

Now he just had to figure out who she cared about enough to protect.

* * *

" _Only we can protect each other."_


	15. United

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Just a quick reminder to vote in the "favorite contestants" poll if you haven't yet.

* * *

 **Training Day One  
** **United**

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 13**

She couldn't help wondering if they really had a better chance together.

Penelope watched as Marcus and Manaka took another lap around the building. Or at least, she _tried_ to watch. The pair of them were moving so quickly, it was hard for her eyes to keep up. On the surface, it was a perfect match. The two of them would be able to outrun pretty much any of the competition, with the possible exception of Kenji. But eventually, they would have to do something more than just run away.

Wouldn't they?

Probably. On the surface, the MAAB didn't really have a way to _force_ them to do anything else, aside from maybe turning on their collars. Last year, things would have been different. The island the Games had been held on had only been about a dozen miles long. Unless the two of them could run over water or swim more than a hundred miles in freezing water without resting, there would have been nowhere for them to go. This year was different.

Except it wasn't. Their powers hadn't stopped them from being collected for the Games, and now they wouldn't be able to run forever. All the MAAB had to do was turn their collars on, and they would be stuck. Well, not completely stuck, but as stuck as the rest of them were. Obviously, they wouldn't do that unless they felt they _had_ to, but it was an option.

An option that she hoped they wouldn't have to use. It was her job to convince the two of them that they had to do something more than simply running away. But so far, they hadn't slowed down enough to listen to her. Penelope glanced over at Alvin, who shrugged. "Want me to slow them down a bit?"

Penelope shook her head. Alvin had apparently decided that the best course of action was to pretend that their conversation earlier hadn't happened, which was probably just as well. It hadn't been for his benefit, anyway; he obviously wasn't the leak. _Someone_ was getting information to Piper, of course. How else would their potential contestants have kept disappearing for months before the Games? But even if he _was_ trying to undermine the Games, that wasn't really his style. He knew better.

And he knew her better than to think that _she_ thought he was the leak. But the contestants who _didn't_ know either of them as well … maybe she had fooled them. Maybe that would be able to keep them – and the MAAB – off the right trail a little longer. Not forever, of course; it was only a matter of time before they found out.

But maybe a little time was all they needed.

Penelope glanced over to where the pair of were coming around the building again. "Just turn mine off. I've got it."

Alvin pressed a button. "Try not to fry them."

Penelope smirked. "Maybe just a little."

She didn't. A quick current of energy coursing through the ground knocked them off their feet, but no worse. Marcus was the first to scramble to his feet. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, striding towards Penelope.

Penelope didn't flinch. "A little taste of why you can't just rely on being able to outrun everybody. If I had been trying to kill you, you would be dead. Both of you. Just like that."

Marcus opened his mouth to respond, but, to her surprise, thought better of it and took a step away. "Okay. Point taken. What's our next move, coach?"

 _Coach_. That caught her by surprise. Technically, she wasn't his coach; Maria was. But he'd spoken the word as almost a title, a badge of honor. Had he been … what? Testing her? Seeing how long they could keep goofing off before she would intervene? Penelope couldn't hide a smile; maybe these two weren't as oblivious as she had assumed. She nodded as Manaka joined Marcus, waiting obediently for instructions. _All right, then._

"I have a few ideas."

* * *

 **Manaka Shizue, 15**

"I have a few ideas."

Manaka rubbed the back of his head. He'd bumped it when Penelope had knocked both of them off their feet. If there were any contestants who could do _that_ , then she was right. They couldn't count on just being able to run away forever. Penelope turned to him. "To be honest, the MAAB had your power listed as enhanced speed in your file, because that seems to be what you've been using it for – slowing down time so that you can move faster. Sound about right so far?"

 _So far?_ "Yes," Makana agreed. "What made you realize it was something else?"

Alvin gave a little wave. "When you ran by me when I came to collect you, there was a … a feeling. Just a little bit of disorientation. Not something most people would probably notice, but I'd felt something like it before."

Manaka perked up. Alvin had met someone like him before? "When?"

"Last year, we had a contestant who could see into the future for brief flashes at a time. So not exactly the same thing, but enough to feel similar, I guess."

"What happened to her?"

Alvin smiled a little. "She _survived_. She was the other one who made it out."

"But … where is she, then?"

Alvin rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, but Penelope stepped in before he could answer. "That's not important right now. She's alive; that's all you need to know. And if _you_ want to be alive by the time this is all over, you're going to need to practice doing something _besides_ running. That's what you've both been using it for so far, and you're both pretty good at it. Have you ever thought about trying the opposite?"

Manaka cocked his head. "You mean … speed up time so that we're moving _slower_ than everybody else?"

"That's right."

It was Marcus who asked the obvious question. "Why would we want to do that?"

"Good question," Penelope admitted. "It's not as obvious an advantage as moving faster, but there are cases where it might be helpful. If one of you is bleeding, for example, and you want to give the other person more time to bandage up the wound before you bleed to death. Or if you're going hungry, and you want to save energy, it might be nice if time moved a bit faster for everybody else than for you. Kind of like slowing down your metabolism, or reducing your activity to conserve energy – but with a bit more kick."

Manaka nodded. He'd never thought of it that way before, but it made sense. "So what are we going to do? You're not going to make us start bleeding so that we have some way to tell if we're speeding up time, are you?" He didn't _think_ she would, but she _had_ almost electrocuted the two of them.

Penelope shook her head. "No, I have a better idea. How long can you hold your breath?"

"I don't know," Manaka admitted.

Penelope nodded to Alvin, who reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a stopwatch. He tossed it to her. "Let's find out," Penelope suggested. "Don't do anything with time right now; we just want a benchmark. Once we have that, you can try to speed up time, so that you're moving slower, and see if you can hold your breath longer."

"You're not going to shove us underwater or anything, are you?" Marcus chuckled.

Penelope shrugged. "Maybe if this doesn't work. Go ahead and start … now." She pressed a button on the timer.

Manaka took a deep breath and held it. He wasn't sure if she was kidding or not about forcing them underwater if this didn't work, but Marcus had seemed almost excited by the idea, as if he'd expected training to be something a bit more rigorous than just practicing holding their breath. As if he wanted something a bit more hands-on.

Manaka watched the timer, holding his breath as long as he could. He was just fine with this. In fact, he would have been quite happy to keep sprinting around the building. It had almost helped take his mind off what they were going to be doing. As long as he was running, he could pretend that was all they would need to do – run away, as fast and as far as they could.

But Penelope was right. They couldn't. Not forever, at least. This wasn't just a race; it was a fight. A fight to the death.

And he didn't want to die.

* * *

 **Liv Holle, 18**

 _You don't want to lie to them._

Liv nearly jumped as the words in her head caught her off-guard. Vincent circled around the group again, smiling as if he hadn't just said something. But it _had_ to be him, didn't it? None of the others could do that, could they? Lee manipulated colors. Elena could change her body into metal. Ansel had said he _inspired_ people, but that wasn't the same as talking inside their heads, was it?

 _No, it's not._ Vincent had circled back around. _You can lie if you want to, but I'm telling you right now, it won't end well._ He turned to the group. "All right. Three of you showed off last night, so everybody knows what you can do. Liv, care to share?"

Liv glared. He was putting her on the spot on purpose. She _had_ been thinking about lying, because if they knew what she could really do, one of two things would happen. Either they would think her power was useless, or they would expect her to be able to do something that she just _couldn't_. She hadn't had enough practice to do anything useful.

 _That's what this is for_.

"Get out of my head!" She hadn't meant to say it out loud, and the other three immediately turned and stared at her. _Great_. Now they would probably think she was nuts, too.

"Sorry." Vincent stopped pacing around the group. "I just thought you might not want all of them to hear that."

Lee raised an eyebrow. "Hear what?"

 _Perfect_. Liv crossed her arms. "Fine. I manipulate storms. Are you happy now?"

Vincent nodded. "There we go. That wasn't so hard, was it? They would have found out eventually, and now we can work with it." He held out his hand. "See?"

Liv looked. There was a water droplet. As she watched, several more landed. She risked a glance up in time to see several clouds overhead. Not enough to be called a _storm_ , maybe, but more than there had been only a few minutes ago, she was sure. "I … I did that?"

Vincent shrugged. "If you didn't, it's an awfully big coincidence. So let's work under the assumption that you did. Useful thing, rain – especially if you don't have access to a reliable source of water. Now you just need a way to catch and contain it before the clouds are gone. Ideas?"

Liv glanced at Ansel, whose forehead was wrinkled with concentration. Probably trying to come up with something clever – or maybe inspire someone else to think of something clever. Liv turned to Elena. "Can you control what shape the metal is in when you turn into a robot?"

"I've never really tried," Elena admitted.

"That's what this is for," Liv echoed with a pointed glance at Vincent.

Elena shook her head. "I told you last night, it only really happens when—"

"When you're scared," Liv finished. "Got it. But I can't keep coming up behind you and threatening to choke you. We're going to have to come up with something else."

"I know. I know. I'm just—" Suddenly, she stopped short, staring at Vincent, who had taken a few steps to one side. Then she looked down at her hands, which were starting to turn to metal.

Liv grinned. "Good. Now keep going. Think of something round."

Her hands grew paler, more metallic, cupping into two bowls. Liv clapped Elena on the back as she caught some of the water. "There you go. Now you know you can—" She stopped when she saw the tears running down Elena's face. Immediately, she whirled around to face Vincent. "What did you _do_?"

"Scared her."

Elena tried to wipe the tears from her eyes. "And what am I supposed to do in the Games? You're not going to be there to tell me—"

Vincent shook his head. "Trust me, you'll be plenty scared in the Games. We just can't afford to wait until then. You needed a little push." He took a step closer. "I _am_ sorry."

Elena shrank away, and Liv shuddered. What had he _said_? Elena's voice was shaky. "What you said … was it true?"

"Yes. And that was just one of them. _Twenty-eight_ people died last year, Elena. Twenty-eight people are _going_ to die this year. That includes at least two of _you_. So if you need to be scared … just picture what I said. Imagine that happening to you, or to one of these three." He nodded towards the rest of the group.

"That should do the trick."

* * *

 **Frederick Bouvy, 17**

"And that's the only thing that does the trick?"

Frederick nodded as Ian examined the gloves. He'd spent their first hour of training earlier melting the increasingly large objects that Alphonso had persuaded Seb to materialize. He wasn't sure what it was about Alphonso, but Seb seemed to trust him, follow his lead. It was a bit ridiculous, considering how useless Alphonso's power was, but if that was what it took to get Seb to do something, it was worth it.

After their first hour, they'd headed back to the cafeteria, but now that they were back out here, Ian didn't seem to have missed a beat. He turned the gloves over in his hands. "Snake skin?"

"Yeah."

"And that's the only thing that won't melt?"

Frederick shrugged. "That I know of, anyway. Once we found one thing that worked, there didn't really seem to be much point in trying to find anything else, I guess. Snake skin was easy enough to make gloves out of, anyway."

Ian nodded, tossing them back. "So you just kept trying things until something worked?"

"My parents are pretty … resourceful. They just wanted me to be able to have a normal life without melting everything in sight. Is that so bad?"

"Never said it was bad. I had a pretty normal life growing up myself."

Frederick cocked his head. "What's your…?"

"I don't sleep."

"That's it?" Alphonso blurted out.

Ian chuckled. "Yeah, I know. Useful, but not exactly dangerous."

"It'd be good for keeping watch, though," Frederick pointed out. "In a situation like ours, I mean."

"Absolutely," Ian agreed. "So, those gloves." He turned to Seb. "Think you could duplicate them?"

"Why?" Seb had that deer-in-the-headlights look that he seemed to get every time Ian asked him to make something appear, as if he was worried that something might go terribly wrong. He clearly didn't _like_ the idea of using his power. But what was he worried about? _He_ wasn't the one who had almost turned an entire building to goo the night before. And if he made something dangerous appear – like a bear or something – couldn't he just write _bear trap_ and solve the problem?

But he clearly wasn't used to thinking like that. He wanted to keep making small things – apples, knives, squirrels. And that might be enough to keep them _alive_ , but they had to do more than just survive. And he could already see where Ian was going with the gloves. "In case they get damaged, or lost," Frederick offered. "Never hurts to have a backup. Wouldn't want me melting all of Wyoming because one of the other contestants got ahold of one of my gloves, would we?"

Seb shook his head. "I … I don't know. I've never tried anything that big before."

Frederick raised an eyebrow. "It's just a pair of gloves. The blanket you made earlier was bigger than that."

"No, not bigger. That was the wrong word. I meant…" He trailed off, collecting his thoughts. "I meant, just writing _gloves_ won't do. Any sort of gloves could appear. You need a very specific _kind_ of gloves. They need to be snakeskin gloves. I've never tried writing something that _long_ before. Everything else I've made appear has just been one word – and usually pretty short words, too."

Ian nodded. "I get it. You're worried that if you start writing, and write _snake_ at the start of _snakeskin gloves_ , you might just get a snake … or a snake, and then skin, and then a pair of gloves."

"Yeah."

Ian shrugged. "So give it a try. What's the worst that could happen?"

"We end up with a cobra?" Alphonso chuckled.

Ian sighed. "Not helping."

Alphonso nodded. "Sorry. Look, Seb, if we end up with a snake, we end up with a snake, but at least then we'll _know_. And there's a doctor here, right?"

"Yeah," Ian agreed. "She offered to do some first aid training, but I don't know if anyone took her up on it yet. I can go get her if you're worried about—"

"No," Seb interrupted. "No, I can do it." He took a deep breath and picked up the stick he'd been using to write words on the ground. As soon as they'd figured out that _that_ worked, Ian had suggested he get used to that, since he couldn't depend on having a pen once the Games started. But sticks … well, there would probably be plenty of sticks. Or he could write with his finger; that had worked, too. But maybe he figured a stick gave him a little more room in case a snake _did_ appear.

 _S-N-A-K-E._ Almost immediately, there was a snake slithering across the ground. Alphonso burst out laughing, and Frederick barely held back a chuckle, but Seb was staring at the snake, horrified. "I _knew_ it. I knew something like that would happen. What do I do? What—"

"Easy." Ian laid a hand on his shoulder as the four of them stepped away from the snake. "Easy. It's just a little one, and it doesn't look dangerous. It's okay. Just try again."

"What difference will _that_ make?"

"Maybe you paused a bit after the _E_ ," Alphonso offered. "Try writing faster so it's clear it's one word."

"Good idea," Ian agreed. "And at least now we know it's just a _little_ snake, even if the same thing does happen. I guess if you wanted a big snake, you'd have to write _anaconda_ or something."

Seb shuddered. "Why would I want to do that?"

Frederick shook his head. There it was again – that look. Could he really not imagine any instance where being able to summon a huge snake out of nowhere to scare someone away might be _useful?_ Frederick watched as Seb picked up the stick again.

They had a long way to go.

* * *

 **Elena Burleigh, 21**

"You don't have to go back out there, you know."

Elena looked up from the sandwich she'd barely touched. Liv and Ansel were already getting seconds, leaving Lee at the table with her. "What do you mean?"

Lee shook his head. "I just meant that obviously Vincent said _something_ that rattled you. I don't know what it was – probably don't want to know – but you haven't even touched your food. Ansel's session is with Ian. Yours and mine are both with Maria. So if you want to duck out of Liv's season tomorrow…"

Elena shook her head. "No. No, I can handle it."

"Are you sure?"

Elena slammed her hand on the table. "Of _course_ I'm sure. I can handle myself, okay?"

But she couldn't. Not really. That was the reason she'd wanted people to work with in the first place, wasn't it? And Vincent … he'd only been trying to help. He'd been trying to scare her, and it had worked. Maybe it had worked _too_ well.

"Elena." Lee's voice was gentle as he laid a hand on her shoulder. "What did he _say_?"

Elena took a deep breath. "Last year, when the contestants parachuted onto the island, some of them got there before the others. The way things worked … their collars only turned off once they landed. One of the boys could shoot … tendrils of sorts. Tendrils of darkness that tore through the parachutes. He shot down two of the contestants. One of them was dead the moment she hit the ground. The other…" She trailed off for a moment. "She lived a bit longer. Her friends kept her alive as long as they could, but she was suffering. She wasn't going to make it. And one of them … one of them killed her."

Lee gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Okay. Okay, I can see why that would scare you, but—"

"Don't treat me like a kid," Elena insisted. "It's not _that_. That's not what I'm scared of. It's the rest. This girl … she had the power to control dreams. So when they killed her body, her _mind_ was trapped. Stuck. Not really living, not able to die. I…" She shook her head. "I can deal with the idea of dying. Twenty-eight of us are going to _die_. But _that_ … if there's someone who could do something like _that_ to us, that's worse than death."

Lee nodded. "Sounds like she did it to herself, though. Your power's not anything like that. I mean, maybe you could get stuck as a robot or something, but even if that happened during the Games, you'd change back as soon as they turned your collar back on, right?"

"I know. I know." Her voice was shakier than she would have liked. "It doesn't make sense to be afraid of it, but … the truth is, we don't _know_ what a lot of the others can even do. Death is one thing, but if there are things that are _worse_ than death…" She shook her head. " _That's_ what he said, okay? He wanted to scare me. It did. That's all."

Lee was quiet for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. "What if he wasn't just trying to scare you?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if he was trying to _warn_ you?"

"About … what?"

"Well, you said all of that happened because some of the contestants got to the ground first, right? Maybe that's what he's trying to tell us to do – to make sure we get there first."

"Maybe. But then why wouldn't he just _say_ that? It doesn't exactly sound like a secret."

Lee shrugged. "Maybe not, but he's also not technically our coach. Maybe he's not supposed to be giving advice to the other team."

"Maybe." But Lee hadn't sounded convinced, either. They weren't split into _teams_ – not really. Only two people were going to make it out of this alive, and they'd already said they didn't have to be from the same color. Elena leaned back as a woman in a doctor's uniform scooped up a few of the dirty plates from the table. Maybe she was overthinking this. Maybe he _had_ just been trying to give her advice.

But something still felt wrong.

* * *

 **Rick Clifton, 19**

Something felt a bit wrong.

Rick took a deep breath as he and Vi made their way outside. Judah had insisted that they take a break for lunch so that they could be ready for their _actual_ training sessions with their coach. Rick stretched his arms, rubbing a few sore spots on his knuckles. At least with Judah, he felt like he was _accomplishing_ something. If nothing else, he was getting a lot of exercise, and he and Vi were pretty evenly matched. Vi was a little taller, while he had a bit more muscle. According to Judah, Rick fought a bit more "aggressively," while Vi could "take a punch better."

All of that was concrete. Measurable. He could _tell_ if he was getting something right. But when it came to his power…

His power. It didn't feel like a power right now. It felt like a pain in the ass. He'd finally been moving on, making something of his life. Maybe it hadn't been much, but it had finally been _his_. And now … now, even if he won, there was no way they would let him go back to that. All of it was over, because of something he'd never known he had. But still something that was part of him, and that made it even worse. His mother had been a mutant. If he'd known…

Then what? Maybe he would have been a little quicker to catch onto the fact that he was, too, but what difference would it have really made? There was no way he could ever have been _ready_ for this – not in any way that mattered.

Rick took a deep breath. There it was _again_ – that feeling in the air. But that didn't make any sense. Still, no harm in asking. "Has it been raining?"

Vincent nodded. "I was wondering if you'd be able to tell."

Rick glanced up at the sky. Sure enough, there were still a few clouds. "Recently?"

Vincent shrugged noncommittally. "Fairly recently."

"Whose session is before mine?"

"Lunch."

Rick raised an eyebrow. He was being evasive, but there was also a hint of a smile, as if he _wanted_ Rick to know, but also wanted him to be the one to work it out instead. "And before lunch?"

"Who did you see?"

"I could go check the schedule and get my answer."

"Not the point. How much were you paying attention?"

 _Not enough._ But Vi spoke up. "The girl who turned into metal last night – I think she was one of the ones who came back to lunch from this direction. Who was working with her?"

"The boy who can manipulate colors," Rick agreed. "And … the boy who gives people ideas. And the girl who came out of the crowd to scare the other girl. She didn't say what she did." He turned to Vincent. "Weather. She controls the weather, too?"

Vincent nodded. "Good. Very good."

Rick hesitated. _Was_ that good? Someone had a power like his, like his _mother's_. That was something he hadn't expected. But she already had a group she was working with, and so did he. Well, it wasn't exactly a _group_ , but he had Vi. And that was enough. Only two of them could survive, anyway, so there wasn't much point in asking anyone else.

Vincent nodded again. "I agree."

Rick raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say anything."

"I know." He gave the pair of them a thorough look. "I see you've been working with Judah a bit."

Vi nodded. "That's what you suggested."

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "I know. It's just nice for someone to _listen_ to a suggestion."

Rick couldn't help a bit of a smirk. He'd seen one of the other coaches talking to three of the contestants during lunch – the three who had refused to participate in training. What did they think they were going to accomplish by just sitting there? At least he was willing to _try_ to use his power.

"Good."

Rick raised an eyebrow. "Okay, how are you doing that? Is that your thing? Reading minds?"

"Not quite." Vincent waved an arm. "It's the wind." He nodded to one of the MAAB members who was nearby, and Rick's collar clicked off. "So let's see if you can change that – which direction a gust of wind is blowing."

Rick blinked. "You want me to make the wind blow the other way?"

Vincent shrugged. "Well, I _was_ thinking you could just nudge it at a little bit of an angle, but if you want to go big—"

"I have no idea how to do _any_ of that."

"I know. From what we can tell, the weather seems to respond more to your emotions than to anything you're directly trying to do – although that could simply be because you've never tried before. So let's start with an emotion. I'm going to switch spots with you so the wind's blowing towards you."

"And then what?" Rick asked, but Vincent was already circling around behind him, smiling a little.

 _And then you're going to try to stop me._

* * *

 **Makenzie Norwood, 16**

She didn't want to stop.

Makenzie grinned as her shadow flew farther and farther away, circling around a bubble that currently contained Evelyn. It wasn't too far above the ground, but height wasn't what they were testing right now. Ian seemed more interested in the _distance_ they could control their powers at. Makenzie had been quick to admit she didn't really have any idea; she'd never had a reason to want to send her shadow _away_ , after all. But now it might be useful.

Useful to … what? Distract someone who was coming after them? Lead them off in the wrong direction if it was dark and she tricked them into thinking they were following an actual person? Maybe. Both of those were good ideas, but they wouldn't really help much when it came to actually _fighting_.

 _One thing at a time._ That was why she didn't want to stop _this_ , after all. Once their three days of training were over, they would be trying to kill each other. Well, not _each other_ exactly, but the other contestants. And even the thought of that made her stomach churn. Most of the others seemed perfectly nice, or if not _nice_ , then at least not violent. Not terrible people. But the contestants last year had probably been just as nice, just as normal, just as reluctant. And twenty-eight of them were dead.

"You okay?" Kylena asked, her voice a little strained as she tried to focus on keeping the bubble intact. It was clearly getting harder the farther away Evelyn got.

Makenzie nodded. "Yeah. It's just—"

Before she could finish her sentence, however, a gust of wind swept her shadow off to one side. "Whoa!" The bubble went flying, too – not higher, but sharply to one side. Almost immediately, it burst, and Evelyn dropped to the ground.

"I'm fine!" Evelyn called out.

Makenzie breathed a sigh of relief. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Kylena called back. "Just a bit of wind, I think, but it got a _lot_ stronger all of a sudden."

"More than just a bit of wind," Ian pointed out. "Look." He nodded towards the trees in the distance, which were shaking in the sudden gust.

"Maybe we should wait until it dies down," Makenzie suggested.

Ian shook his head. "No telling how long that might be. Besides, this gives you the chance to see how well you can control what you're doing when the weather isn't on your side. There's no telling what might happen once you're in the Games."

Makenzie nodded. But there was something in his voice – something he wasn't saying. The wind – was it because of one of the other contestants? Probably. No one the night before had done anything with the wind, but there were plenty of them who hadn't participated. "Okay," Makenzie agreed, then turned to Evelyn. "But maybe you should stay out of flying bubbles for the moment."

Evelyn was still unfolding herself. "Sounds good. I'll just fold up over here or something."

Ian chuckled. "Oh no, you don't. _You're_ going to work on speed. From what I've seen, it takes you a little while to get really small. Or maybe you just like to take your time. So let's see how fast you can do it."

Makenzie turned her attention to her shadow, instead. _Okay_. Slowly, it lifted off the ground, shaking a bit in the wind, but she managed to keep it in place. Beside her, Kylena was doing the same with one of her bubbles – a bit smaller now that she didn't have to fit it around Evelyn. Almost immediately, the bubble blew away. So did a second, and a third. Kylena grunted in frustration, sending another stream of bubbles into the air.

"Easy," Makenzie coaxed. "It's okay." She spread her shadow out, creating a shield of sorts. "Okay, try making one there – where my shadow will be blocking it from the wind. Once you've got it solid, I'll move the shadow away slowly. Okay?"

Kylena nodded, and slowly, a small bubble appeared. Makenzie grinned. "Okay, now maybe a little bigger. There. Perfect. Ready?"

"Not quite. Maybe … okay, now."

Makenzie flicked her wrist, and her shadow flew up, away from the bubble, flickering back and forth in the wind. The bubble stayed. Kylena was beaming.

 _Very nice._

Makenzie smiled. "Thanks."

"For what?" Kylena asked. "You're the one who was helping me."

"Didn't you just say…?" But she trailed off, because the voice _hadn't_ been Kylena's. It hadn't really been a _voice_ , exactly – more of a thought. She couldn't help a smile.

"I think I know where the wind's coming from."

* * *

 **Evelyn Hong, 17**

"I think I know where the wind's coming from."

Evelyn turned to see Makenzie and Kylena watching their shadow and bubbles blow back and forth in the wind. "You think it's coming from one of the other contestants?" Evelyn asked.

Makenzie nodded. "Makes sense. I just heard Vincent's voice coming from the same direction. Well, not _voice_ exactly, but … it was him."

Evelyn nodded. Makenzie's session with Vincent had been in the morning, as had Kylena's with Maria. She still had no idea what Maria's power was, but Vincent hadn't exactly been shy about using his to talk to them individually, even after they'd insisted that they didn't want to keep secrets from each other. It was almost as if he was showing off.

Ian took a step towards Makenzie. "What did he say?"

Makenzie took a step back. Ian's voice was surprisingly tense. "Nothing much. He just said _very nice._ I was assuming he was talking about my shadow. It was probably high up enough for him to see it. Why?"

"And you're _sure_ that's all he said?"

Makenzie nodded. "Yeah. Why?"

Evelyn unfolded a little. "Yeah, what's the big deal? Were you waiting for a message or something?"

Ian shook his head. "Didn't even know they were planning to turn his collar off. It's not like it makes a difference for me or Maria, but…" He trailed off.

Evelyn looked up. "So you're worried he'll … what? Keep talking to Makenzie? What's that going to do? I mean, yeah, maybe it means he's not completely focused on whoever he's working with right now, but you're working with _three_ of us, and you're multitasking." She shook her head as Ian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Wait. You're not worried about him talking to _us._ You're worried about him contacting someone _else_."

Ian shook his head. "He can't."

Evelyn cocked her head a little more than most people would have been able to. "But you're not _sure_ about that – not completely sure, or you wouldn't be so worried."

"I'm not worried."

"Bullshit. You don't _want_ him to be able to contact anyone else. Why?"

"That's not true."

"Then what _is_ going on?"

Ian's face was red. "I just don't want him to get in trouble. That's all."

"And you're worried they'll … what? Ground him? What's the worst they could do? And if there's a _chance_ he might be able to contact someone else––"

"There _is_ no one else." Ian was almost shouting, but he took a long, deep breath. "Look. Whatever you're thinking of, we've tried. Whatever you're imagining, they've thought of. Do you really think they'd let him work with two weather manipulators if they thought there was even a _chance_ of him being able to contact someone that far away?"

"Two?"

"Shit."

"There are _two_ people who can control the weather?"

"I feel like you're missing my point."

"No, I got it. You're too scared to try. What are you worried they're going to do? They're already planning to kill twenty-eight of us. But not _you_. You're perfectly safe, so maybe it doesn't matter."

Ian sighed. "You done now?"

"What?"

"Are you _done_ now? Because this isn't going to help. He can't contact anyone. And even if he could, what would he tell them, and who would _they_ tell? The government already _knows_ about this. They're the ones pulling the strings. There's no one to tell." He shook his head. "And yeah, I _am_ worried about what they might do to him. Because if they _are_ finally letting him use his power, it's the first time in almost a _year_. You have no idea what that's done to him. If they take that away again…"

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. Evelyn nodded slowly. Even spending the previous day being unable to use her power, unable to fold up a little to make herself feel more comfortable, unable to relax into any position she wanted – even that had been hard. Last night had been better, and this was already her third session today. And whatever else happened, once they were in the Games, she would be free to use her power. The idea of not being able to for a _year_ was unthinkable.

"So what is he trying to do, then?" Makenzie asked. "I'm _sure_ he was talking to me."

Ian shrugged. "You'd have to ask him. You're one of his contestants; maybe he just wanted to see how you'd react. But the point is, it doesn't really matter." He shook his head.

"So let's get back to what does."

* * *

 **Marcus Del Rio, 19**

"Ready to get back in?"

Marcus tried not to shiver as he eased his way back into the pool. Maria had taken Penelope's idea about speeding up time instead of slowing it down and run with it, hoping that holding their breath underwater – under freezing cold water, at that – might be the little nudge they needed in order to get it to work. As far as he could tell, though, he hadn't gotten any better at it. Manaka, meanwhile, had managed to improve his time a little, but none of them seemed really sure whether he was actually speeding up time or just getting used to the cold water.

"Why do you even _have_ a pool here?" Marcus asked as the three of them waded back out to the deeper end.

Maria shrugged. "One of the contestants the MAAB was considering at one point was an aquakinetic. Thought it'd be good to have some water around, just in case. Not a lot of lakes around here."

"Good to know."

"What?"

Marcus shrugged. "Well, if there aren't a lot of lakes around _here_ , not much chance of just happening to stumble across one once the Games start. Although you did say _not a lot_ , which doesn't mean _none_. And if you were thinking of including some water-manipulators at some point, it wouldn't make much sense to choose somewhere with _no_ water."

"Sound reasoning." Maria's expression gave nothing away – nothing useful, anyway. "Deep breath." She pressed a button on her stopwatch, and all three of them ducked under the water.

 _Focus_. Marcus closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on speeding up time. But that was the trouble, really; he didn't even have to _think_ about slowing it down anymore. It just happened automatically. Trying to do the opposite wasn't just learning something new; it was breaking one habit and trying to learn a whole new one in a matter of days.

Still, both Penelope and Maria had been quick to point out that there was no point in practicing something they were already experts at. The fact that it was effortless now was the whole _point_ ; he didn't _need_ to practice anymore. And they could always end their session with a few quick laps around the building, just to keep it up. That wouldn't take long.

 _Focus._

His lungs were already burning. Had he been slowing down time just by _thinking_ about doing the opposite? Shit. He was _never_ going to get the hang of this. He opened his eyes and risked a glance over at Manaka, who seemed to be struggling, too. Maria, meanwhile, was sitting casually on the bottom of the pool, but poised just right to spring into action if they started to drown or something. As he caught her gaze, she flashed him a thumbs-up sign. But did that mean he was doing better, or was she just trying to be encouraging?

Finally, his lungs couldn't stand the strain. His head broke the water only a few seconds before Manaka did the same, gasping for breath. Maria quickly floated up beside them, stopwatch in hand. "Better. Almost five whole seconds better."

 _Five seconds. Great._ Marcus took a deep breath. Okay. Okay, five seconds was better than nothing.

It was Manaka who said what they were both thinking. "That's it? Five seconds?"

Maria shook her head. "Don't underestimate what a few seconds could do. Think of it as a race. When you're running, five seconds might not seem like much, but how often does a race come down to a few seconds – or even a few milliseconds. Being able to hold on and hold your breath that much longer than someone else – it could mean the difference between life and death."

Marcus nodded. "She's right. I used to play baseball before … well, before all this, and a few seconds can _matter_. A lot." He got a smile from Manaka, but the truth was, he was trying to convince _himself_. He'd never _needed_ those few extra seconds in baseball, because he _could_ have given himself even more time – easily – and won by a landslide. That had all been about holding himself back, about not slowing down time _too_ much, because if he looked _too_ good, he might be noticed.

But it hadn't been enough.

Marcus took a deep breath. "Ready to try again?" Maria asked, and he nodded. _Practice, practice, practice._ That was the important thing right now. Practice something often enough, and it became a habit. Practice a habit enough, and it became a way of life.

Or maybe a way to _keep_ himself alive.

* * *

 **Sybil Herveaux, 21**

This wasn't really going to keep her alive.

Sybil flicked her wrist, watching as the starlight danced back and forth in front of her. "Very nice," Maria offered for what must have been the fifth or sixth time, but she seemed completely at a loss about what else to say, or what else to tell her to practice. Maybe that wasn't all that surprising. Sybil was already _very_ good at what she did, but her power wasn't particularly threatening.

"Thought you already knew what we could do in advance," Sybil shrugged.

"We did," Maria confirmed. "And I pointed out – several times – that your power wouldn't be particularly…"

"Useful?"

"As far as fighting goes, yes. I did suggest that you might want to spend some time with Judah."

Sybil shook her head. There was no point. There was nothing she was going to learn about fighting in a matter of days that would really be useful – not against mutants with powers so much stronger than her own. No, she needed a different kind of advantage.

"And to be honest," Maria admitted, "I figured your power might be useful in combination with someone else's. Since two people can survive, we figured most people would want some sort of a partnership, an alliance."

"Oh, I'll have one," Sybil assured her.

Maria raised an eyebrow. "With … who?"

"Frederick."

"Frederick," Maria repeated. "I take it he doesn't know about this?"

"Not yet."

"Right. Look, you might want to _talk_ to him before assuming that he'll want to work with you. It looked like he was working with a group. Now, if you're interested in _joining_ them—"

"No."

Maria blinked. "Okay. So then what's the plan?"

Sybil shrugged noncommittally. There was no plan. Not really. Not yet. But she wasn't about to let Maria know that. "I figured I'd play it by ear."

To her surprise, Maria nodded. "Actually, that might not be a bad idea."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because all of this – the training, splitting up into groups, finding people to work with – it's all well and good, but all of that could go right down the drain in a few seconds once the Games start. Even if you find the perfect person to work with, that's no guarantee that they'll still be there after a day or two."

"You mean it's no guarantee that they'll still be _alive_."

"Yeah."

"He will be."

"You're sure about that?"

Sybil shrugged. "Seems pretty stupid to go after a guy who can melt anything he touches."

"Unless your power doesn't require you to _touch_ someone in order to kill them," Maria pointed out. "No one here is invincible – and that's deliberate. They wouldn't have _picked_ someone they weren't certain they could catch. And if someone can be caught, they can be killed."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Sure, but a lot of us came along peacefully. If he'd really _wanted_ to resist…"

"He would have been caught anyway," Maria said firmly. "Oh, he might have managed to melt a sentinel or two along the way, but that's it. There are always more of them – and there are plenty of you."

Sybil hesitated. "So you don't think I _should_ work with him?"

Maria shook her head. "I'm saying it's a good idea to keep your options open. You've still got two days before the Games, and even then … Once the Games started last year, groups shifted around as people got separated, people left, people died, people found new groups. Flexibility is good, so it's fine if you don't have a plan set in stone right now."

"I never said—"

"You didn't have to. I know how to recognize someone who's winging a project. It's a teacher thing."

"You're a teacher?"

"I was. I guess it's … one of those things I'm trying to hold onto. Something that feels _real_ when all this … doesn't."

Sybil nodded. That made sense. So much of this didn't quite feel real yet.

"In the meantime," Maria continued. "Let's see if we can figure out something for you to try with that starlight of yours. I've noticed it's not really tangible, but if you have enough of it in one spot, do you think you'd be able to create a small barrier that you couldn't _see_ through?"

"What good would that do?"

Maria waved a hand in front of her face. "I was thinking a blindfold. If you get enough of it around someone's eyes to stop them from seeing you, or even enough to get them to reach up and try to swat it away, that could give you an advantage."

Sybil blinked. She hadn't thought of that. Probably _wouldn't_ have thought of that. "And then I'd be able to kill them," she finished, filling in the part Maria hadn't said.

Maria nodded. "Now you're getting it."

* * *

 **Elio Haines, 16**

They weren't getting anywhere.

Elio drummed his fingers on the table as another group of contestants came back from their training sessions. Most of them seemed to have found someone to work with – in most cases, more than one someone. But none of them seemed interested in joining up with him, Lea, and Jaime.

Maybe it had been too much to expect it to happen right away. Maybe it would take time. Maybe once they were a few days into the Games, people would begin to realize that it didn't _have_ to be this way. Yes, that was it. He would just have to be patient. They all would. For now, they just had to stay strong.

It wasn't easy. He had _wanted_ to go with Ian earlier; he really had. Not for training, necessarily, but just for the chance to _use_ his power. Sure, he could still pray without it; anyone could. But God's presence always seemed stronger when he could visibly see that light, that reminder that he wasn't alone. That someone was watching.

He would just have to wait. Once the Games began, their collars would be turned off, and everything would be clear again. He would have direction. Clarity. Purpose. It was hard to remember a time when he hadn't had those. So he was clinging desperately to the idea that _this_ is what God wanted him to do.

He just wished he knew for sure.

"Not interested," Elio answered automatically as Vincent approached. After Ian had approached them in the morning, Maria had come over before lunch to try to talk Lea into coming to her session. Penelope was the only one who had left them alone now, but she wasn't coaching any of them.

Vincent shook his head. "Not here for you, Enjolras." He turned to Jaime. "If you change your mind, I'll be right outside." Immediately, he turned to go.

Jaime looked up, a bit surprised. "That's it?"

Vincent turned back, and Elio was _sure_ he saw a hint of a smile. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Jaime shook their head. "It's just that the others … Ian and Maria were a bit more … persuasive."

"And did it help?"

"No."

"Then yeah, that's it. I could stand here and argue with you, and the three of you could dig in even deeper, or I could go enjoy a nice, relaxing hour to myself for the first time in _ages_." He shrugged. "I'll see you if you change your mind."

Elio watched him leave. After a moment, one of the MAAB members – the one who had introduced herself as Anita – headed out after him. "Something's going on," he whispered.

Lea raised an eyebrow. "Why are you whispering?"

Elio opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came to him. It had just _felt_ right, like something that should be kept a secret. "You never know who's listening," he offered.

"Sure we go," Jaime pointed out. "They're all listening." They pointed to a few cameras in the corners of the room. "I mean, maybe they're not all listening right _now_ , but they could always go back and listen later if they suspect we're doing something."

"We _are_ doing something," Elio insisted.

"But they already know what it is," Lea reasoned.

Elio nodded. She was right. "But I don't think we know everything that _they're_ doing." He turned to Jaime. "You don't think it was suspicious that he didn't even _try_ to convince you to come outside, after he was the one that was trying to get us to shut up yesterday?"

"Maybe he's tired of arguing," Jaime offered.

Elio hesitated. Jaime's tone of voice was enough to hint that _they_ were tired of arguing. That maybe if Vincent had tried a little harder, made a slightly more compelling argument, they might have gone with him.

Elio took a deep breath. He wasn't just getting nowhere; he was losing ground. Jaime wasn't convinced, and he couldn't really blame them. But this _was_ the right thing. Wasn't it?

It had to be. Peace. Non-violence. How often had he said those words? How often had he seen other people live them? Who was he to give up now, before the Games had even started? Who was he to even _consider_ giving up on what he believed in, and for what? A moment or two of clarity that would probably just make him feel guilty that he had ever doubted that this was right?

But…

But it had to be a _choice_ , or it didn't mean anything at all. They had to freely choose this – all of them. And if Jaime really wanted to leave, if they really thought that was what _they_ should do, who was he to tell them otherwise? They had to stick together, but maybe that didn't mean they all had to do exactly the same thing.

Maybe they didn't even have to _think_ the same thing.

* * *

 **Dr. Anita Donohue, 35**

 _What were you thinking?_

Anita had to fight not to scream the words out loud. Vincent was standing perfectly still, eyes closed as if focusing on something. Anita took a step to one side. _I know you can hear me. What were you thinking?_

"About what?" He still didn't move a muscle, but she knew he was being careful with his words. They could be talking about anything, from what he'd said. There were cameras nearby, of course, but they could only hear _his_ words – and how they both reacted.

So she took a deep breath, trying to keep her expression calm, her thoughts clear. _When I turned your collar off this morning, you promised not to do anything stupid._

"And you think I did?"

 _You've practically been showing off, sending thoughts into their heads when you could have just said something. Makenzie, Evelyn, and Kylena are already asking whether you can use your power to contact other people outside the area. And what the_ hell _were you thinking telling Elena about Diana?_

"Do you think she worked it out?"

 _No, and you're lucky._

"Am I?"

 _You've practically been screaming that you're the one leaking information to Piper. But there's no way you_ could _be. You didn't have access to the right information – not at the right time. We had those files before you did – the files for the contestants we were considering. Piper got to some of them before we had a chance to give the files to you four. It_ can't _be you, so what are you doing? Are you trying to make them suspicious?_

Vincent finally opened his eyes. "Yes."

"Why?" Anita blurted before she realized she'd said it out loud.

Vincent's face was carefully blank as he circled around her. _Because if they suspect that it's me, then they won't know it's you._

 _Shit._ Shit, shit, shit. Had she been that obvious? She'd tried to be careful. She'd tried to cover her tracks. But the fact was, this wasn't something she'd been trained for. It wasn't even close. She was a _doctor_ , not a spy. But her mother—

 _I don't think they suspect._ Vincent's words rushed at her. _But it's only a matter of time. Penelope's laying another trail for them – for the contestants, mostly. If anyone, the contestants will think the leak is Alvin. And the rest of your people will think it's me._

Her people. What did he mean by that? The MAAB? Humans? Anita opened her mouth to respond, but thought better of it. If she said something, they would hear. She took a deep breath, hoping one word would do the trick. "Why?" Why was he helping her? Penelope … that made sense. Anita's mother had taken Penelope in when she'd had no one. She'd probably been one of the few people in the world who had ever wanted to give the girl a normal life. But Vincent…

 _Because I'm a sucker._ There was a bitterness in the words even as a thought. _Whatever you're trying to accomplish, it won't work. There's no_ way _it will work. But if I don't at least try to help you, I'll spend the rest of my life wondering if maybe it_ could _have worked, if only I'd helped. If only I'd been willing to do something._ He shrugged. _This way, I don't have to wonder._ He ran his fingers along the side of his collar. _So make it work._

"How?"

 _You have to turn me in._

"But—"

 _They know you're out here. They'll want to know what you were doing. They'll take one look at that video footage and know you were talking to me – and that I was talking to you. You have to get there first. You have to give them something. Tell them you suspect what I've been doing. Pick a reason why; I gave you plenty to choose from. Tell them I should be closely monitored, and turn this damn thing back on._ He gave his collar a tap.

He was right. She _hated_ it, but he was right. She shook her head. "I _told_ you not to do anything stupid," she insisted, hoping her tone was convincing.

Vincent smirked convincingly. "Force of habit."

She turned the collar back on. "I'll have to tell them."

"I know." He shrugged. "It was nice while it lasted." Then he smiled – genuinely this time – as he caught sight of the door behind her. Anita was sure no one else would notice how tightly his fists were clenched as he made his way past her towards the figure beside the door.

"Good to see you, Jaime."

* * *

" _Only we can protect each other ... We must be united and strong."_


End file.
